


I'm Not a Goldfish (I'm a Koi)

by shnuffeluv



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Significant Others, F/M, No I Am A Sex-Repulsed Asexual, No Sex, Not Lovers Though, SO, Slow Burn, friends to something more
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-05-09 07:48:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 33
Words: 22,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5531516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shnuffeluv/pseuds/shnuffeluv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You, a down-on-your-luck author, move into the empty flat at Baker Street, 221C, with the help of your family friend Mrs. Hudson, when you meet your eccentric neighbor, and his even more eccentric brother. Will you last in 221C, or will the frequent Holmes visits drive you crazy and force you to move out? A slow-burn, and my first hand at Reader/Character stories outside 500 words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

You were sitting in the slightly dilapidated apartment that was 221C with Mrs. Hudson sitting across from you with a card table between you two. "It's not much, dear, I know. I managed to get rid of the mold, you'll be glad to hear. It's yours if you want it," the old woman said.

"Ah...how much?" you ask, wondering if your salary as an author would cut it.

"Oh. Yes, your mother said money was tight when she called, [y/n]. If you help with upkeep around the building, I'll make it only 700 a month."

You sat back in shock. That was just enough to leave you money for food, wifi, and utilities, with a little extra for emergencies! She must have really talked to your mum. "Yes, that sounds perfect, Ms. Martha," you stammer out.

Mrs. Hudson smiles at you. "Of course, dear. And, I'm afraid you'll have to supply most of the furniture. I have an old mattress and this table set, but that's it."

"That's more than enough, Ms. Martha. You've always been willing to help out my family, and I'm really thankful," you smile.

Mrs. Hudson tuts at you. "That's enough of that, [y/n]. You know you're always welcome here."

You grin, standing up. "My stuff's in my car. I can get it and move in right away."

"Oh, do you need any help, dear?"

You consider. "I...I'll be okay," you nod. She doesn't need to know about your bad legs. She's doing more than enough already. "If you don't mind, I'd really like to get my stuff..." you trail off.

Mrs. Hudson takes the hint and leaves you to go upstairs. You go out to your car and carry in all your belongings at once, which consist of 3 boxes and a plastic filing-cabinet style storage bin. You put it downstairs and sigh. 700 pounds...Mrs. Hudson is a saint. You go in the bedroom, putting the clothes in the bin and sheets on the mattress. Carefully, you walk back out to the chairs and groan, popping your knees. "Arthritis?" a voice from the door asks.

You look over and see who you assume is your neighbor Sherlock. "Ah...just moisture. Stupid knees always hurt when it's about to rain. Which is about all the time here," you joke.

The man rolls his eyes at the terrible joke and sighs. "Sherlock Holmes," he introduces himself.

"[Y/n]," you say. "I don't need any help, if you're offering, and I don't feel like being dissected if you're not."

Sherlock looks at you in irritation. "I do what I like."

"But not in my flat," you assert. "Now, I would appreciate being left alone," you say sweetly.

Sherlock scowls and storms up, and you set up your laptop on the table, and your journals and pencils and pens all stay in their box for now. Footsteps come down the stairs, slow and heavy, and you don't bother looking up from your laptop booting. "Sherlock, if you're here to harpoon me or something equally hard on Ms. Martha, I won't be the body on the floor at the end of the day."

You're met with silence.

You look up in annoyance and start when you realize there is a man you don't recognize standing in the center of your flat. "Okay...you're not Sherlock, I already met him. Are you some other neighbor? Or a friend of Ms. Martha's?"

The man looks at you in distain. "I know you just moved in, but I'd expect a bit more...regard to this hole in the ground."

You frown. "This is all my stuff, and some of it isn't mine. Can I help you with something?"

The man sneered at you. "It has come to my attention that Sherlock has expressed an interest in you. It makes my job a lot easier than it would have been already."

You look at him like he's insane. "Right...please leave my flat."

The man takes the chair opposite yours. "I will pay you a...certain sum of money if you are willing to spy on Sherlock Holmes."

You snort. "What are you, his arch-nemesis or something?"

"Yes."

You laugh, but realize he doesn't join in. "Oh my gosh. You're not kidding...um. Well, then. I have a phone, I can and will call the police..."

"700 pounds," the man says.

You freeze halfway standing up. "I'm...sorry?"

"That's your rent, correct? I spoke with Mrs. Hudson about her prospective new tenant, I know you don't have a lot of money to speak of, you could certainly use someone paying the rent so you can adequately care for your ailing mother."

You gape, open-mouthed, then slap the man, your own cheeks hot at what he seems to be implying. "I'm not poor," you say, "I get along fine. And my mother has more than enough money to pay for her own hospital bills. She should know better than to drive during a torrent anyway."

The man holds a hand to his cheek, cold fury in his eyes. "Don't take the money, then. I'll get someone else to spy on him for me."

"Or you could just give him a call," you say, gasping in mock surprise. "People often keep in touch via phone. Brothers may not get along great, but they tolerate one another in that regard most of the time."

You hear a snort from the doorway, and Sherlock is standing there, pleased. "Seems you've been outmaneuvered, Mycroft. Respect the woman's wishes and get out of her flat."

The man, Mycroft, regards you, then gets up and leaves. Sherlock walks in. "How did you know he was my brother."

"Who else would be your arch-nemesis?" you snort.

Sherlock smirks and leaves.


	2. Chapter 2

You sit down at the old card table, booting up your laptop and editing the poems you are about to submit to several literary magazines. You backed them up just as the power winks out. You groan and unplug your computer, walking upstairs by the light that makes its way through the cloudy morning. You quickly check your computer, and a few choice swear words pop up in your head, though you don't voice them. Your Wi-Fi is down. You walk outside with your laptop in hand and make your way to an internet café 10 blocks away, to ensure that you can be left alone. You finish your editing and send them in, penning an e-mail to one of your friends online about how weird the people you live with are. You're just about to hit send when a woman with chocolate brown curls and blue eyes closes your laptop. "I wouldn't send that if I were you," she warned.

Unimpressed, you lean back. "And why not?" Your [e/c] eyes screaming your defiance.

"Because if you did I'd have to kill you and the recipient," she said calmly.

You raise your eyebrows and laugh. "Oh, this is Sherlock's brother, huh? It's because I mentioned him? Really?" Your laughter draws the attention of other customers. "Who is he, anyway? 'Big Brother'?"

The woman didn't respond verbally, just smirked.

You swallow thickly. "Oh, gosh. I just ticked off the evil overlord," you mutter.

The woman laughs. "That's a new one!" she exclaims. "Anthea," she offers.

"[Y/n]..." you say slowly. "But...you knew that already, didn't you?"

Anthea nods. "Yeah, sort of had to. You've got a target on your back."

"Yeah, well. Holmes is a bit arrogant for my tastes," you take a sip of tea. "If he's Big Brother, then was he the one who took out my Wi-Fi?"

Anthea winced. "What would you do if I said yes?"

"No one messes with my Wi-Fi!" you exclaim, nearly upending the table. "You tell Holmes that if he wants to get back at me for slapping him, he can face me like a woman or not bother me at all!"

Anthea looks at you, somewhat nonplussed but also slightly, ever so slightly startled. "I'll pass it on. I especially like the 'like a woman' part," she smiles.

You cock an eyebrow and smirk. " _Big Hero 6_ ," you admit sheepishly.

Anthea nods and lets you leave, but you're slightly scared to walk on your own, and you dial the number you thought you would never use. "Um, Sherlock? Quick question: is your brother above murder?"

There's a long pause. "...Mostly...I doubt he'd use it on you, but walk quickly, and avoid black cars."

"Sherlock...those are taxis."

"Yes. Stay away from taxis too."

You gulp and start walking quickly. "I'm just an author, why in the world would someone get so mad at me that they'd cut the Wi-Fi and send someone after me?"

"Well, you slapped one of the most powerful people in the world," he says. "Quite well, too, judging by the bruising that looks like a palm-print on his face."

You freeze. "Where have you seen him?"

"Trying to break into your flat," Sherlock says indifferently.

"He's doing what?!" you exclaim, your eyes going wide. "When exactly were you going to tell me this?!"

Sherlock sighs and walks downstairs to the ground floor of the building you share, presumably. "Want me to get rid of him for you?" he asks.

"YES!" you exclaim. "Get him out of there!"

Sherlock huffs in pleasure and hangs up on you. You glare at your phone and shake your head. You walk home to see Mycroft and Sherlock arguing on the steps. "Out of my way, Holmeses, you growl, and they let you through, Sherlock looking at you in a somewhat pleased fashion, Mycroft glaring daggers at your back. "Oh, and Big Brother? Lay off the Wi-Fi," you quip. "I'll be with Ms. Martha if you need me Sherlock, not like you'll need me."

"Actually..." Sherlock trails off.

You turn and look at him expectantly.

"Seeing as how you don't have another solid job for a week, would you care to join me on a case?"

You're shocked, but at the same time a little excited. "Oh, sure! I'll put my laptop away and then we can do whatever!"

Sherlock nods, evidently pleased, shoving Mycroft to the sidewalk, making you laugh as he shuts the door and leads you upstairs.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock's a bit odd, but you don't really mind spending time with him, because he can keep up when you leap to different conclusions and doesn't judge you for saying morbid things randomly, as you're apt to do. He just...accepts it. The two of you compare pictures, research, and theories, and you love every second of it. "Do you mind if I use this in a book?" you ask at one point.

He waves you off. "It can't be worse than John's blog. Knock yourself out."

You grin. "Thanks, Sherlock."

Sherlock nods and goes back to work, and you take that as your cue to do the same. But you find you can't focus. Something feels...wrong. "Does something feel off to you, Sherlock?"

Sherlock glanced at you and paused. "Now that you mention it...it smells...like sugar, or something..."

You smell carefully, following the trail until you and Sherlock are on the ground floor, and there's a man standing there in all black with a ski mask, and an empty gas can. Your eyes widen as you realize what's going on. "Sherlock...? Is there a fire escape upstairs?" you ask.

Sherlock nods.

"Grab Ms. Martha and get her out that way. I'll take care of this guy," you mutter at a low decibel.

Sherlock understands you anyway and as you leap towards the arsonist surrounded by gasoline, Sherlock runs to Mrs. Hudson's flat. You're by no means a master in martial arts, but your self-defense classes pay off enough that you can take a pack of matches off the assailant before they can strike one. You dash downstairs and douse all the matches in water, knowing that the man may have a lighter just in case. You grab your box full of writing materials and laptop, and hesitate. You can feel a large amount of heat coming closer to you, and you know you can't get out the way you came in. You crack a window open, shove your stuff through and pull yourself out behind it. You turn and see that the flames have started to kiss the door, and people are gathering around. Among them, Holmes. But Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson are not to be seen. You run to the front and look around for them, not finding either. "Sherlock?" you call. "Sherlock?!"

The front door swings open on its hinges and Sherlock runs out with Mrs. Hudson covered by his coat. You sigh. "You okay, Sherlock? Ms. Martha?"

Mrs. Hudson rubs your cheek with her thumb. "Don't worry about me, sweetheart. I'm fine."

Sherlock just nods and goes into the crowd, muttering something or another about propellants. It was you and Mrs. Hudson as Holmes sauntered over. "I trust both of you two are all right?" he asks.

Mrs. Hudson nods. "Fine, thank you Mr. Holmes."

"I was wondering if I might speak to Ms. [l/n] alone, Mrs. Hudson?" he asks with that infuriating smile of his.

Your stomach sinks quickly. Something inside you says that danger is close, and it's in the man in the suit. Mrs. Hudson could tell that, too. "Anything you want to say to her, I'm sure can be said to me, too."

Holmes smiles. "With respect, not everything can be said outside of confidence."

Mrs. Hudson looks at you questioningly.

You shake your head. _I have no idea what he's on about_.

"It seems like I'm not wanted," she says with a worried glance your way. "I'll be...with the neighbors. Make sure they're all right."

As soon as she is gone, Holmes turns to you, predatory. "Who do you work for?" he snarls.

You push your [h/c] hair out of your face. "I...I'm a freelance writer, Mr. Holmes. I work for lots of people."

Holmes grabs your shoulder. "Wrong answer," he hisses.

"Let go of me!" you scream.

Sherlock looks over with surprise and you call, "Sherlock! Your brother is refusing to let me go! I could use a hand!"

He strides over quickly, removing Mycroft's hand from your shoulder. "Hands _off,_ brother," he warns.

Holmes scoffs. "She could have tipped off the arsonist to kill you, and you don't think she could be questioned?"

"She was with me all afternoon," Sherlock growls.

"And this morning?"

"You took out the Wi-Fi, and gave me a new stalker, remember?" you ask, irritated. "You would know, because no one seems to leave me alone here!" you scream.

Mrs. Hudson comes over, and you back up to the building, putting down your stuff a safe distance away before walking up to it, watching the flames closely. "Everyone just leave me alone!" you yell. "My home is burning, and I just want a second to myself!"

Sherlock puts his hands up in a surrender position. Mrs. Hudson clearly wants you to back away from the flames, and Holmes clearly thinks you're guilty of this heinous act. You scowl. "Don't give me that look, Holmes!" you yell.

Sherlock looks confused, then looks at his brother. "[Y/n], don't pay attention to him. He's an idiot--"

Holmes lunges for you and you make a mad dash towards the burning building to get away, just as an explosion throws everyone backwards.


	4. Chapter 4

You find yourself groaning on the ground, thrown back forcefully from the explosion. You sit up slowly. You feel burns on your face and bruises down your back, but nothing too serious. Someone pulls you up to a standing position and, fearing the worse, you do the only think you can think to do. You bite them. They cry out and let you go, and you stagger away, finding your attacker was Holmes himself. You stumble back and bump into your box of stuff, damaged but mostly unharmed, and thankfully not incinerated, like the front of the house seems to be. You wince as you take in the damage. It's bad, it'll probably take 3 months to fix, minimum. And the only property that survived is likely to be the box you brought out with you. The top half of the building looks less damaged than the bottom, and the front less than the back. "It looks like a checkerboard," you note hysterically.

Belatedly, you realize you're sitting across the very box you tried hard to protect. And Holmes is standing over you, gripping his hand. "Give me the box," he orders.

You look at him, shocked. "No! I risked my life over my work, I'm not about to give it away!"

"You want to prove your innocence? Hand it over," he growls.

"You could just fabricate something to incriminate me and plant it in my computer. I'm not handing it over."

Holmes looked like he might throttle you, but sirens could be heard in the distance. Strangling someone in front of the police is not a good idea.

EMTs and police swarmed everywhere, making sure everyone was all right. A grey-haired detective separated Holmes from you, trying to talk him down. His partner walked over to you. "Are you the reason Holmes has bite marks on his hand with a bit of blood covering it?"

You pale. "I-I-I...um...he was...I didn't know whether..."

The woman held up a hand. "It's okay. I'm glad someone did it. He needs to know he can't get away with anything just because he practically doesn't exist."

You smile a bit and the woman helps you stand up. "He'll probably try to press charges, but if it was in self-defense he doesn't have a leg to stand on, so I wouldn't worry."

Stumbling a bit, you walk with her away from the smoldering building. "I-I just moved in yesterday..." you stammer out. "I can't believe I'm homeless again."

The woman gave her arm a reassuring pat. "Someone will be able to find you a place to stay."

"My mum won't. She means well but I doubt she'll accept me into her home again."

The detective walked over. "Are you Ms. [l/n]?"

"Yes?" you ask uncertainly. "Why?"

"Well, the man you bit, isn't going to press charges, but on one condition."

You frown. "What condition?"

Holmes grins. "Well, I need to make sure you're not a threat to Sherlock. And since you won't lend my your things, I suppose you have to stay with me for observation. It won't be just you, though, at least. Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson will have to be there for their own safety. At least until this building is repaired and declared structurally sound."

You groan, knowing that if Holmes wants you to stay with him, there's probably nothing you can do about it.


	5. Chapter 5

The house is a medium sized town house. It isn't terrible, but the fact that Holmes is here makes your blood want to boil. Were it up to you, you'd never see his smug face again after he first tried to bribe you. But it isn't, and now you're stuck in this place for "observation". The only good news is that there is Wi-Fi. Steady Wi-Fi which you don't have to pay for. So you do your work eagerly at the dining room table as Holmes sits across from you, observing you. "What are you doing?" he asks.

"Work," you reply.

"For?"

"Myself. Writing and editing a novel. Like Sherlock said, my latest round of submissions just went in."

Holmes squints at you. "You don't think you're going to get published."

You shrug. "If my expectations are low, I'm either right or pleasantly surprised. Now shut up so I can work, will you?"

Holmes' jaw clenches. "Seeing as how you're going to be stuck here for 2 months, I figured I may as well try to be civil."

You laugh. "Oh, sure. And I suppose bringing up my mother and my career both having problems was you being civil too?"

Holmes blinks. "Is _that_ what this is about?" he asks with just a hint of incredulousness. "You hate me because I spoke about your mother."

"It wasn't what you said, it was how you said it. Now. Shut. Up. I'm trying to work."

Holmes gives a sigh, and mutters, "Make yourself at home."

"Oh, believe me, I plan to," you look up at him and flash a grin.

* * *

From then on you and Holmes have one-worded conversations, usually over breakfast. It's simple as, "Milk?"

"Yes..."

Or, "Jam?"

"Pantry."

Sherlock does a double take when you ask, "Bread, please?" because Holmes is closer to the refrigerator.

Mrs. Hudson laughs at seeing Holmes so domesticated, even though he's never out of his infernal suits when she's around. You catch him once with his shirt off when he's coming out of the shower in a bathrobe. At that you snort and say, "Cute," before turning and heading into your room.

But Friday night you go into Holmes' living room and find a small collection of _Doctor Who_ DVDs, and you can't resist taking one and putting it in to watch. It's a Peter Davidson, 5th Doctor, and you chuckle when he comes on screen with that celery stalk pinned to his lapel. "Why doesn't Holmes do that?" you ask out loud.

"I couldn't pull it off," a voice says behind you, and you whirl around to see Mycroft smirking at you watching the show. "I didn't take you for a Whovian."

"I'm a consumer as well as a producer of media," you mutter to him like it should be obvious as your attention returns to the screen.

Holmes sighs and sits next to you. "Are we still...fighting? Enemies? Whatever you're calling it?"

"Yeah. We're just pausing our battle for Christmas," you say sarcastically. "I'm not talking to you."

Holmes smirks and watches the show in silence next to you.

"I hate you, you know," you say to him benignly.

"And I can't stand your naïveté and the fact that you assaulted me on more than one occasion," he replies.

You grin. "So, we're enemies, then."

"This is our only time of peace, I suppose," Holmes sighs. "This is going to be a long 2 months."

"More like 3, if the construction crew behaves like it usually does," you correct.

Holmes sighs a world-weary level sigh. "Great."


	6. Chapter 6

Saturday morning, you and Holmes wouldn't even look each other's way. You had your work, he had his, Sherlock was complaining and Mrs. Hudson was saying this would be a good place to rent out. Currently you were deciding with Mrs. Hudson what to name your newest character in your romance novel when Holmes slipped you a note. _Tonight. New episode. 9pm. Want to watch?_  


You wrote _Sure_ on the back of the note and continued like nothing ever happened. Later, as Holmes went to refill his drink, he took the note with him. "Oi, Holmes!" you yelled.

He pulled a face and looked back in.

"What were to happen if I said that I coordinated the arson on Sherlock? I mean, I didn't, and I have no doubt you're dredging up my phone records and e-mails, but say I did. What would happen?"

Holmes shrugged. "Not much. You'd be taken away, tried and charged, and I'd bash your brains in," he smiled sarcastically at the end.

You raised your eyebrows. "Nice. Now, imagine that I care for something just as much as you do for your brother: my work, and Ms. Martha here. Harm either of those, and I will personally strangle you, very, very slowly. Understand now why I wouldn't let you put your paws on my laptop?"

He rolled his eyes and got himself a glass of water, going back to work. The two of you didn't speak again until that night when _Doctor Who_ came on. "Which Doctor?" Holmes asks.

"The next one," you reply. "Episode?"

"The same," he mutters.

You look over at him and scoff. "Okay, idiot. I can understand not having a favorite Doctor, but you have to have a favorite episode."

"No..." he drawls.

"Yes," you insist.

"No."

"Yes!"

"No."

"Yes! How can you not understand that a favorite episode, or at least a few favorites, must be ready for other Whovians to digest?! I'm not mad at you for my mom, now. I'm mad at you for this!"

"Ah, but will you ever stop being mad at me?" he snarks.

A shadow crosses your face. "Shut up, you pompous idiot."

Mycroft's face darkens to practically Peter Capaldi level. "I'm not an idiot."

"Sure, sure," you mockingly placate. "And the Doctor didn't love Rose."

Mycroft scowls at you and looks like he might punch you in the face, until he relaxes. "Unlike you, I don't need to resort to violence to get my points across."

You made sure he nursed a bloody nose as they watched the new episode together.


	7. Chapter 7

They watched _Doctor Who_ every Friday for those 3 months, eventually starting to discuss what they liked about the show. But Baker Street was deemed structurally sound, and soon you and Mycroft had no reason to keep associating. You _are_ a bit relieved, but also a bit disappointed, as you enjoyed the repartee you and Holmes had going every Friday night, in the same way most people can get off from a physical fight. You grabbed your new backpack, filled with everything you salvaged from the fire, and the few sets of clothes that were retrieved from your flat. You walked down to where Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson were waiting; Mycroft was apparently uninterested in the proceedings, and was working at the dining room table, as per usual. You frowned, and went to the dining room. "Hey, pompous idiot," you called. "We're leaving. I liked being able to watch _Doctor Who_ every week. I hope I never see you again!" you grinned.

Holmes glanced up and waved exasperatedly. "This day couldn't come soon enough."

You turn and practically skip out of the house. You had a romance novel under your belt, and several successful submissions. You're set for a few months...set enough until several more submissions, anyway. You lean back in the seat of the taxi taking the three of you home. Sherlock glanced over at you. "Someone's happier than me to have left my brother's? Is that even possible?"

You shrug. "Lots of things are possible," you laugh. "I just can't wait for my privacy."

Sherlock nods and Mrs. Hudson gives you a small smile, which you return. The cab pulls up outside of 221, and you insist on paying. It doesn't stop Mrs. Hudson from giving _you_ half the cab fare instead. You shake your head and go inside, assessing the new flooring and wallpaper, and realizing the fire never quite made it to Sherlock's flat outside of one wall. _Lucky_. You go downstairs to your flat and your eyebrows raise. You know from how little clothes you had when you got them back that the explosion was devastating to your flat, and yet everything looked the same as it had before, with the exception of a wooden table and sturdier chairs where the old card table was. There was a note on top. _No arch-nemesis of mine can have such shoddy furniture in their flat. If you must, I'm sure you can find a thrift shop for the other things you might need._ _-M_  


You laugh at the slightly insane man you find strangely pleased to be your arch-nemesis. Setting up shop at this new table is so much more satisfying than the previous one.

You were in the throws of writing when a knock sounded at your door. Confused, you grabbed a frying pan and walked up to the door, opening it slowly. What you see on the other side surprises you. "Holmes?" you ask.

Mycroft stands on the other side of the door. "May I come in?" he asks.

"Not without saying what you want," you say, raising your eyebrows.

He sighs. "Well, I wanted to talk to you. I still need to know how Sherlock is doing, and he won't tell me. He would never answer a call from me willingly, and since Dr. Watson is busy with his wife...I was wondering if you'd perhaps reconsider my offer, now that you've seen what sort of danger can occur, you can understand why I might be worried."

You blink. "You don't have an ulterior motive. You're really just concerned," you state.

Mycroft nods. "I worry, as you've seen. And I can be a bit..."

"Obtuse while you do it?" you offer.  
Mycroft winces and nods, flexing the hand you bit months ago. "Also, I miss your snarky comments when we're watching _Doctor Who_ together," he offers, "But if you wish we could still meet up and fight over who's right in their opinions, like true enemies."

You smirk. "I can pencil you in Friday nights, my place?"

Mycroft nods. "That would be acceptable."

You grin. "It's a date, then," you joke. "Bring popcorn, arch-nemesis."

Mycroft smirks. "As you wish."


	8. Chapter 8

That Friday, you're setting up your laptop on the table so you and Mycroft can watch Doctor Who when the doorbell rang. You grin, awaiting the debate, when you open the door to find...Sherlock. "Sherlock?" you ask. "What's...what's going on? Your brother and I had a fight scheduled."

"[Y/n]..." Sherlock frowns. "My brother isn't coming to see you. He's in a meeting as we speak."

You frown. "But...he said he would bring popcorn. Every Friday night. I thought that would include this one," you scowl. "The lying, manipulative--!" you stop yourself, realizing that Sherlock is still on your doorstep. "Thanks for letting me know," you say, closing the door behind you as you turn. "How could you be so stupid?!" you berate yourself out loud. "Holmes...you dirt bag. I can't believe I actually believed you," you growled.

You couldn't believe that you bought into Holmes' lies. Obviously, he'd say whatever he needed to in order to get what he wanted. He couldn't _not_ have an ulterior motive. You stormed back to your laptop, closing the DVD player, and opening your work, determined to vent even if it wasn't directed at the man you really wanted to hurt.

* * *

As you finished the horrible mutilation of the pompous idiot you were pleased to call your flatmate's brother on the page, an alert box popped up with the text _Colorful. I had no idea you hated me so much. -M_  


You didn't reply, just scrolled back to the top, saved the story, and set a reminder to edit it later.

_Don't be childish. I tried phoning you, you didn't respond. -M_

Your blood boiled and you opened a joint document between you and him. _Screw you. -[y/n]_  


You closed it and refused to open it again, closing your laptop for the night, deciding to go clubbing and forget about Holmes. You paid no mind to the security cameras following you, or the texts blowing up your phone. You danced with several guys, laughed, and generally had a good time spiting Holmes. You notice Anthea moving towards you and you glance around, tapping a woman on the shoulder. "Hey, can I pretend to be with you for a minute? That woman is following me and I'm feeling a bit threatened," you say, because you're not lying, you're incredibly freaked right now.

The woman gives you a sympathetic look and nods. "Of course. Want to dance?"

You smile and nod, and have a good time with the woman, who you belatedly realize you've seen before. "Hey, you're the police woman from that arson 3 months ago! You're the one who comforted me after I bit that guy!"

The woman nods. "I knew I knew you from somewhere!" she exclaims. "I'm Sally. Feeling better?"

"I got back to my flat this week, yeah. Holmes is still driving me up the wall, though."

Sally laughed. "Which one?"

"The one I bit. We were going to watch some stuff together tonight, debate a few things, general enemy stuff or whatever. And he stood me up."

Sally tutted. "It's his loss, my friend. You're really pretty."

You blush and laugh. "Thanks," you mutter.

Sally grins. "Well, you are. Now, who's following you?"

You point to Anthea. Sally nods. "She's one of Holmes', all right. You made a good choice, steering clear."

"Yeah," you agree sadly. "I just thought maybe we weren't actually enemies anymore, becoming allies in a way, you know? And then he stands me up..." you sigh. "I guess I was just getting mixed signals."

"Stock Holmes Syndrome," Sally says. "That's what I call it."

You laugh. "Yeah. It'll take me a while, but I'll get over him."

Sally smiles. "Atta girl. See those guys at the bar?" she points out.

You nod. "Let's go say hi," you smirk.


	9. Chapter 9

The next Friday Holmes is again standing on your doorstep. "[Y/n]...can we talk please?" he asks quietly.

You level him with a look. "Oh, I guess that's up to you. Are you going to be decent to me, or are you just going to pretend to and then stand me up again?"

"Look, an emergency meeting came up that I couldn't control, I tried to let you know!"

"I checked my phone, and you did no such thing!" you rebut.

"Okay, honestly? The meeting came up and I forgot about you. I'm really sorry and I'd still like to watch something with you..."

You laugh. "Well you screwed up, big time, buddy. That's not happening."

You try to close the door in his face but he jams his foot in the door. "[Y/n], just listen!"

"No! Shut up, you idiot! I can't understand how you'd just take advantage of my tolerance for you and the thought that we could be allies so you can spy on your brother! He's a grown man! He can take care of himself! And so can I! So get lost!"

Mycroft backs up like he's been slapped. "You...you really think I'd do that?" he asks.

"I don't see why not, you dirt bag," you spit. "Get out of here."

This time he doesn't stop you closing the door and you start crying as soon as the door is closed. How, exactly, does he get the right to hurt you that much? You just wanted a place to stay and write, you never asked for this. You curl up on your bed and close your eyes, letting the tears fall freely. Footsteps approach, and you wish you had locked the door, and try to gather your dignity enough for whoever's there. It winds up being Sherlock. "What do you want, Sherlock?"

Sherlock sighs. "I saw my brother sitting outside your door and realized that something probably happened. Are you all right?"

"Physically," you sigh, wiping your eyes. "Emotionally I'm a bit at the end of my rope."

Sherlock looked to the ground. "Want to spite my brother by having fun with someone else?"

"I'm not going clubbing again," you mutter. "Your brother probably think's I'm a goldfish now, anyway. No danger to anyone and just a stupid idiot. I'm not a goldfish, though," you look up with a small, genuine smile. "I'm a koi. And I want to prove it."

Sherlock nods approvingly. "There's a ball I have to go to next week. I can take you as my plus-one, but we need to get you ready."

You smirk. "And just what, Sherlock, do you have in mind? Because I have a few ideas myself."

* * *

You and Sherlock are standing in the middle of the changing rooms, you holding a handful of dresses to try on and see if they fit. A changing room opened and you went inside, trying on each of the dresses in turn. None of them fit quite right, until you put on the last one. You smile. "Sherlock, I think I found the one," you call.

"If it's that blue one, absolutely not."

"It's the one with the sleeves," you say.

Sherlock is silent for a while, then you hear him say, "Good. That one is perfect for you."

You laugh and open the door, giving it a twirl. "Let's do this thing," you say confidently.


	10. Chapter 10

The party was sophisticated, and you're suddenly very glad that you didn't choose that blue dress; that wouldn't fit in with the ball gowns around here. She looked at Sherlock, and he nodded. "My brother will be here, I'm sure of it. Just take a deep breath, and don't be afraid to flaunt yourself."

You look at him and nod, walking down the steps to the dance floor, and everyone turns to look at you two. You blush a bit, but Sherlock subtly shakes his head, saying you shouldn't.

The two of you shove Mycroft's goldfish statement back in his face, you wearing a blue dress with koi decals all over it, and puffy blue sleeves that connect to the small train in the back. Sherlock has a rusty orange tie that matches your dress perfectly. In the crowd, you can just make out Mycroft's stunned face. You give him a smile and a wave, but nothing more. Tonight you're here with Sherlock, albeit platonically, and you plan to have fun.

You and Sherlock say hello to a few people, high profile clientele, and the like. Then the two of you go hand-in-hand to get a drink. Holmes is waiting. "Ms. [L/n], what a surprise to see you here," he mutters.

Sherlock wraps a hand around your waist. "She's my plus-one, Mycroft," Sherlock says calmly, but with the threat of danger just under the surface.

"Are you sure bringing such a..." he searches for the word. "Goldfish is appropriate? She openly gaped at everything; she's branded as one by her dress alone!" He smirks and takes a sip of his whiskey.

You smile and lean into Sherlock, praying he'll play along. "Say what you want, I think it's fantastic for a first date."

Holmes coughs on his whiskey and Sherlock smirks down at you. "I'm glad you like it, _love_."

Holmes scowls at the two of you, and you're now smiling broadly. "May I have a dance, Mr. Holmes?" you ask playfully to the man on your arm.

Sherlock smirks. "Of course, my dear."

Once on the dance floor, Sherlock laughs. "Oh, you are evil," he praises.

"I'm just glad you played along," you admit. "It would have been awkward if you didn't."

Sherlock rolls his eyes. "Any chance to spite my brother," he brushes off.

You smile. "It's still fun to watch him choke on whiskey."

Sherlock laughs. "That was priceless."

You look over to find Mycroft looking at you skeptically. "He's looking over here. What do we do?" you ask.

Sherlock leans down and kisses you chastely on the lips. You lean back a bit in surprise and your cheeks heat up. "Is he still looking? I can't look over myself now," you admit.

Sherlock glances over. "He's still looking, and he's red as a tomato," he chuckles.

"Mad, I assume," you laugh.

"Spitting," Sherlock chuckles.

You rest your head against his chest and look over, waving. Mycroft knocks back the rest of his whiskey and starts to approach. "He's coming over, what do we do?" you ask, beginning to panic.

"Stay calm, he might not be doing anything," Sherlock whispers.

Mycroft stops in front of you two, and you stiffen. "Can I help you, dirt bag?" you hiss.

"Actually, you can." Holmes smirks. He bends down, grabs you, and pulls you away from Sherlock. "I'd like a dance."

You react instantly. Your knee connects with his privates and you quickly step back to Sherlock. "Keep your hands off me!" you snarl.

Holmes keeps a hand over his parts and winces, limping away. You feel a slight pang of guilt, but ignore it in favor of the fear you've been nursing that's turning into relief.

Sherlock puts a hand on your shoulder. "Are you okay?" he asks.

"Fine," you smile at him. "Now, I believe we were interrupted during our dance?" you prompt.

Sherlock nods and continues to dance with you the rest of the night.


	11. Chapter 11

Things get quiet after the dance. You and Sherlock hang out a little between cases, and you enjoy that, but every Friday night Holmes will sit outside on the steps of 221, whether coming or going, you see him. He sometimes will cover soft spots of you walk to close, but other than that he just watches you closely. One night you're coming back from a small interview when you see him waiting there, and you sigh and roll your eyes. "I'll give you 5 minutes," you bite. "Talk."

"I genuinely wanted a dance, I genuinely forgot, I do so on a regular basis, and while we may be enemies, you're...also my only friend outside any work or family. I know I call people goldfish, but...that koi dress you wore was a bit over the top for sending a signal, and...I wanted you to know I don't think of you like a goldfish. I...think of you as...not necessarily an equal, but...not a goldfish. I...I just want to watch one final episode of _Doctor Who_ with you, if nothing else. Please?"

You blink. Holmes certainly doesn't seem like one to beg. You've known him for 5 months, and you can't even recall a time when he asked for something. "...One episode," you allow. " _One_."

He nods crisply. "Thank you," he allows, and you smile.

"But we're watching an episode I choose," you insist.

Mycroft nods. "That's fine."

"It's _Midnight_ ," you say with a smirk.

Mycroft's expression falters but he nods anyway. "All right."

You stop outside your door and smile. "Good luck, pompous idiot," you laugh.

The computer is set up and ready to go inside, and the two of you huddle in front of the computer and you press play. You find it extremely funny when Mycroft pales at the monster, but when he starts shaking you get concerned. You pause the episode. "Holmes? You okay?" you ask softly.

Mycroft doesn't respond, just keeps his eyes on the laptop screen and leans back in his seat.

"Holmes, you're scaring me. Are you all right?"

He doesn't respond.

"Holmes!" you yell.

Mycroft blinks back into the present and looks over at you. "What?"

"Are you okay?" you ask. "We can stop if you can't watch anymore. And that's not a jab at you, that's an honest offer."

Mycroft swallows. "That...would...be...nice..." he admits.

You smile. He hesitates. "Um...I don't want to impose, but...my house...it was robbed the other week, and I haven't had a place to stay in town...is it okay if I take the floor here?"

"Oh my gosh, have you been sleeping on the steps? Will Sherlock not let you sleep at his place?"

"Um...sort of. I don't sleep on the steps, though, I sleep in the alley so you won't see me in the mornings."

"Oh my gosh. No, you're taking my bed. I've slept on tables long enough that I can be comfy. Go, shower. Take the bed. Make yourself at home," you insist.

Mycroft hesitates. "I don't want to take your bed from you..."

"Well either you take it or we share it because I'm not letting you sleep on the floor," you assert.

Mycroft blinks. "I...I don't want to intrude."

You roll your eyes and go upstairs, and he follows you uncertainly. You knock on Mrs. Hudson's door. When she opens it, you waste no time. "Ms. Martha, Holmes here is out of a place to stay. Do you have an air mattress I could borrow?"

Mrs. Hudson nodded. "Of course, dear. That has to be more comfortable than sleeping next to my bins, Mr. Holmes. All you needed to do was ask," and she was off getting the mattress.

She gave it to you and you went downstairs to set it up. Mycroft continued to follow you. "What are you, a lost puppy?" you joke.

He takes a step back. "Sorry," he mutters.

You sigh. "It was a joke, you pompous idiot," you laugh.

He gives a thin smile as you start up the pump for the mattress. "Do you have any spare clothes?" you ask.

"I...I've been sleeping in a long coat and changing at the office. I've only been using 2 suits for about a month," he admits.

You cluck your tongue. "Tomorrow I'm taking you to a thrift shop, on me. We'll get you another useable suit."

"You don't have to--" he starts.

"I know," you cut him off. "But it's on me anyway."

He blinks at you. "I...don't know what to say," he whispers.

"Just say thank you and get ready for bed," you smile. "I'll be in my room."

Just as you're about to go in, you hear him murmur, "Thank you [y/n]."


	12. Chapter 12

The next morning Mycroft is still out cold on the air mattress when you get up. A knock sounds on the door and you go to answer it, to find Anthea. "Have you seen Mycroft?" she asks.

You point over your shoulder and she sees the man sleeping on the air mattress. "I think he won't be going to work today," you assert. "And by that, I mean he's going to sleep until he wakes up naturally, he'll have a breakfast that I make for him because he's so exhausted, and then we're going shopping for some clothes that fit him. And under no circumstances is he going to work today."

Anthea raises her eyebrows. "The Fate of the Free World-"

"-Does not rest on his shoulders today," you insist.

Anthea hesitates, nods, and closes the door. You go down into the kitchen and start on breakfast. Sometime during the process Mycroft wakes up and uses your kettle to make tea. You smile at him. "Morning, sleepyhead. Was the air mattress better than the street?" you inquire.

"Much, thank you," he responds. "[Y/n]...are we still enemies?"

You consider. "I wouldn't say so, considering I gave you a place to stay indefinitely. We're...allies, at least. Friends at most, I think."

Mycroft nods. "Well, then...could you stop calling me Holmes?! I have a name you know!"

"Yeah, but do you really want to be called 'Mycroft'?" you snicker.

"Yes! It beats 'Holmes' by a long shot!"

You sigh. "Fine then. Mycroft."

He looks over at you expectantly.

"What would you like for breakfast? And don't give me any of that 'it's classified' crap, because it's not."

"It might be," he arches an eyebrow.

"It really isn't," you insist.

Mycroft actually laughs. "I usually just have toast to go, but something tells me that I'm not going anywhere soon."

You hold a finger up in warning. "Watch it, Holmes," you warn, and he pulls a face. "I get enough 'deductions' from your brother. If you want to say anything about my plans for today, then you can just say them. No teasing."

"I don't want to go to a thrift shop," he says simply, and you spin to look at him. "You sly dog. You weren't asleep when I talked to Anthea or whatever her name is, since I doubt it's her real name."

"Why do you doubt that?"

"Why would someone who's working for Big Brother say her real name to someone she just met?"

Mycroft smirks at you. "Big Brother, hm? I thought that I wouldn't still be accused of that."

You laugh, and the toaster pops with what was to be your toast, but instead you pass it now to Mycroft. He protests. "You should get your food first-"

"-Were I the guest. Which I'm not. Enjoy." You go to make yourself another set of toasted bread products. "Eat the stupid things, I'm gonna force you if you don't."

Mycroft slowly ate the toast, staring at you the entire time. You wink at him like a flirt and then go to get some jam for your toast. You can feel his eyes staring a hole in your head. "Oh, my gosh, what is it?!"

Mycroft looks away. "Nothing. I just don't know how I can pay you back for this."

You frown. "It's fine. Don't mention it. Really."

Mycroft sighs. "But..." He shakes his head.

"Don't you 'but' me, mister. You housed me for 2 months, and in return I slam my door in your face multiple times, knee you in the privates, and generally give you an all around hard time. I owe you far more than you owe me," you assert. "And I don't take crap from anyone but myself by saying I can actually be well-off as a writer, so don't even bother arguing with me."

"I've read some of your publications," Mycroft says. "They aren't bad. I like the one where a human is trapped in a fish tank. Not so subtle jab at me, huh?"

You chuckle. "I was frustrated about being stuck with you, so I wrote out my frustration."

"Ah," is all Mycroft responds with. "Still, I hear it's going to be quite the centerpiece."

You blink, realization kicking in. "They haven't published it yet?! How did you read it?!"

Mycroft shrugged. "Remember the day I sent you those messages through your computer? I may have...sifted through files. Only in your 'previously submitted' folder, so I know you'd be comfortable with people seeing them. And I have a friend working for the Literary Magazine you submitted it to, and...well, word on the grapevine is that it's going to be the center spread of next month's issue."

"But...next month is when they get people to renew their subscriptions. Only the best of the best get published then!"

"And you're the center spread. You sound surprised?"

You squeal happily and jump up and down really quickly. "I can't believe it! I can't believe I'm getting center-spread published! That's fantastic! It usually means a commission or two and a bonus!"

Mycroft gives you a funny look, but you don't care. This could be your big break! "I'm making tea to celebrate. Want any?"

He nods. "...Sure."


	13. Chapter 13

The two of you enjoy a celebratory tea and then go out to your car, where Mycroft hesitates. "Do we have to go in this...thing?" he asked.

"What's the matter? Something wrong with her?" you ask.

"It's just...I usually get in a car, and a...professional driver does the driving."

You lean on the car. "Mycroft, I'll have you know I got a near perfect score on my driving test."

Mycroft swallows. "It...still, makes me uneasy."

You roll your eyes. "Come on. You don't even know where we're going! It'll be _fine_."

Mycroft winces but gets in. You smile reassuringly as you get in the other side and start the engine. You put the car in drive and smile at Mycroft's slightly panicked face, as he desperately fights for his composure.

The drive doesn't take long, and Mycroft jumps out of the car the first chance he gets. You sigh at his antics. "Let's get you a new suit," you declare.

Mycroft wrinkles his nose. "You weren't kidding about the thrift shop."

"This place is where I got my koi dress, there's some gems in here if you know where to look."

Mycroft rolls his eyes but follows you inside, and the two of you go to the men's section. "What're your sizes?" you ask.

He stiffens. "I can find clothes that fit myself just fine on my own."

"Touchy," you say, raising your hands. "I didn't mean anything by that, I just wanted to help look. but it's fine, do it on your own."

Mycroft huffs his approval and starts to walk, and you decide to go to the furniture section, where you find an 8-foot bean-bag. "Oh my gosh," you say excitedly.

You hear a scoff from behind you, and find Mycroft standing behind you. "You can't seriously be talking about that, can you?"

"Oh, come on! It's an 8-foot bean-bag! Bean bags alone are so cool! This big I could use it as a bed if I wanted!"

Mycroft sighs. "My dear, if you even think of taking that back to your flat, I will be finding another place to stay."

"Good luck then, because this thing is 15 pounds," you grin.

Mycroft sighs and holds up a suit he found in a light blue color. "This one will fit me. Does this mean we can leave?"

You laugh. "Try it on first. Sometimes these things get mislabeled."

"They are. I checked the actual clothing. It'll fit. Let's _go_."

You sigh. "All right, all right. I'll carry this all the way to the car."

Mycroft looked at you with a mix of surprise and disgust. "You're really getting that thing? You don't know where it's been!"

"Well, I know it's clean and free from any incriminating evidence, based on the fact that it's being sold at a place where everything is examined for lice, stains, holes, and anything that would make it unusable before it's accepted."

Mycroft sighs. "Let me help you with it then, at least."

You beam at him.


	14. Chapter 14

You drive back to your flat quickly after wrestling to fit the beanbag in the back of your car. Mycroft is pale as you weave through traffic. "I thought you said you got a near-perfect score on your driving test?" he asks.

"I did. I just don't have that sort of patience right now," you smile.

You park expertly and start wrestling to get the beanbag out of the car. While you're doing so, Mycroft watches you while smirking. "Care to help?" you ask.

"No," he responds.

"You little--" you mutter under your breath.

From the door of Baker Street, you hear Sherlock groan. "[Y/n], is my brother bothering you again?"

You pull the bean-bag free of the door and sprawl on the cement. "Ugh. No, actually. He's staying with me because the air mattress in the basement is better than the street," you snark. "Thanks, by the way, for forcing him on me."

Mycroft frowns but offers you a hand up regardless, and you're quick to accept it. "Thank you," you brush off your backside.

Another man splutters and you turn to see John Watson, the infamous blogger. "Hello, Dr. Watson," you say. "I'm Sherlock's new neighbor. I've been helping him on cases while you enjoy married life. I didn't take the bribe either."

John gives you a funny look. "Has my life really become so strange that that's the normal way of introducing someone?"

You consider. "Well, at least you got an introduction. This one," you nod to Mycroft. "Never actually gave me an official introduction. I found out about him after he insulted me in my own flat and Sherlock came down to do little more than watch the show."

Sherlock looks offended and Mycroft actually looks vaguely uncomfortable. John blinks and nods. "You must be something special to deal with both of these two."

You laugh. "That's one way of putting it, for sure," you laugh. "I'm a writer. Like, full-time, that's-my-only-occupation writer. I'm a bit mad myself."

John nods. "Do you...need some help with that...what is that?"

"A bean bag. If you want to help that's be fantastic."

Sherlock turns to John and whines. "But we have a case!"

"And your neighbor needs a hand for 10 minutes. This case isn't time-sensitive, Sherlock."

"I've seen him on some time-sensitive ones. He works well under pressure. Oof...it's quite impressive..."

The two of you bring the been bag inside, and then you shove it down the stairs. "I'll rearrange it in a bit," you wave off.

John nods. "Hey, um. Is Mycroft really staying with you?"

"Yeah, he's my arch-nemesis," you laugh. "Or he was. He tried to steal my laptop and insinuated I was too poor to take care of my mum."

John winces. "That can't have been pretty."

"Oh, he had a hand-shaped bruise on his face for weeks!"

John raised his eyebrows. "He must like you, I can't imagine anyone doing that and living!"

"Oh, I think he just needs an eye on Sherlock now that you're out of the flat. I'm a necessary evil," you brush off. "Nothing more."

John shakes his head. "Say what you want, but not one person I have met can do that to any Holmes and live."

You sigh and shake your head. "Thanks for the advice, Dr. Watson. But I think I'll be able to handle myself."

John hesitates, nods, and leaves.

Mycroft comes in behind him. "What did he say to you?"

"That you must like me to let me live after slapping you!" you laugh. "I have no doubt I was fascinating for a while...but I think he's got the wrong idea."

Mycroft hums. "Quite."

You grin. "Want to watch another _Doctor Who_?"

Mycroft rolls his eyes. "Oh, fine. But I choose it this time!"


	15. Chapter 15

You don't really know when it happened, but at one point in the middle of the night Mycroft decided he wasn't sleeping on the air mattress anymore and moved to the bean bag, pulling the blankets across the floor with him, giving the whole thing a nest look. You snicker at the sight when you get up in the morning and take a picture to keep for whenever you need a little pick me up. Mycroft said he estimated he would go home in a few days a week ago. You wonder why exactly he hadn't gone back to his house yet, but don't press, just get up, get yourself breakfast, and get to work. It's a Sunday, so Mycroft doesn't have to work himself, but a writer's brain never truly rests, so you're at your computer like always.

Mycroft stirs in his nest and you pause to see if he gets up, but he just settled down into sleep again. Urgent knocking comes from the front door and Mycroft is up like a shot, blankets all tangled around him still. You close your eyes and sigh, getting up to answer the door. The person on the other side starts knocking again. "All right, all right!" you yell. "I'm coming!"

You open the door and Sherlock is on the other side. "Is my brother here?"

"Yeah, you woke him up, why--?" Sherlock ignores you, walking down the stairs, and you trip him. "I was talking, dirt bag!" you sigh, closing the door. "I'll make tea."

Mycroft has gotten himself untangled from the blankets and gives Sherlock an irritated look. "What do you want, Sherlock?"

"Your assistant has been calling me all morning, trying to see if I could get you to answer your calls. Why?"

You pause in making tea to listen to the conversation, but go back to it after a second realizing that if anyone would notice, it would be the two geniuses in your living room.

"I don't know. Maybe because I was sleeping in on my one-day off."

"Not-Anthea says that you're needed."

"Tell her it's my day off, and that she can deal with it."

"She says it's a bit more than she can handle."

"Well, that's my job for her. Now, I was enjoying sleeping in--"

"It's about our parents."

You fumble with the kettle and squeak a little as it barely misses your foot. It's hard to believe these two would have parents, but they had to come from somewhere, right?

After a lengthy pause in which you fill the kettle with water and wait for it to boil, you hear Mycroft sigh. "What about our parents?"

"They're coming up and need a place to stay."

"Sherlock, my house is still being de-bugged. The CIA seem to have been thorough this time around in revenge for that meeting with the ambassador...only about half the house has been cleared."

"But they can't stay with me! Remember last time?"

"Last time you were detoxing. Hardly a gold standard to live up to."

"But...I need to smoke _some_ time!"

"Is that what I'm always smelling through the vents?" you ask as you hand the men mugs of tea.

"Oh, and you do know that you have bigger problems than our parents visiting, right?" Sherlock asked. "You're staying with a woman."

Mycroft paused in his sipping of tea.

"Why? What's wrong with staying with a friend?" you ask.

"Our parents won't see it that way. And they'll suspect something sinister is going on between the two of you."

You look between Sherlock's amused face and Mycroft's murderous one. "What does that mean for me?" you ask, dreading the answer.

"[Y/n]..." Mycroft says with as much dignity as he can muster. "For the duration of our parent's time here, we'll have to pretend to be...boyfriend and girlfriend," he scoffs.


	16. Chapter 16

You blink, trying to get that to sink in. "S-sorry, what?!"

"In order to convince my parents that you are letting me stay in your flat of your own volition, you would have to pose as my girlfriend," Mycroft flinches, waiting for you to slap him.

You thankfully don't. "What would that entail, exactly?"

Mycroft frowned. "I honestly have no idea."

You glance down and away, nodding. "No, I guess you wouldn't. I doubt you're the dating type," you reason. "Um...the occasional 'date', which would involve us being somewhere out of sight, there's the possibility of flirting..." you blush as the realization hits. "Sharing a bed, and depending on what your parents are like, they might expect more at the living-together stage..."

Mycroft holds up a finger. "That, thankfully, will not be necessary. Sherlock and I were raised to wait until marriage."

You sigh. "Well. That, at least, is a small blessing."

Mycroft takes a sip of tea. "So, you'll do it? I can handle a bit of scolding, but that might lead to a verbal thrashing, which I am _not_ prepared for, ever."

You nod. "Eh, why not. I've never fake-dated someone before."

Sherlock laughs. "This'll be fun. You'll have to guess everything about him!"

"Um...his favorite color is blue. He's uncomfortable with his body image, loves Doctor Who, and takes his tea with sugar, no milk. Sometimes he gets pulled away for impromptu meetings when we have plans, and it really ticks me off. He doesn't work Sundays. Every morning he has at least 2 slices of toast, no jam or anything like that because he doesn't want any stains. And he hates any sort of nickname," you rattle off. "I'm a writer. I remember things."

Sherlock looks mildly shocked. "I had no idea your memory was that retentive."

You shrug. "I can't control it well, though. It picks up whatever it pleases. Studying for classes I didn't like was a nightmare. Retaining false information along with the right was even worse."

Mycroft nods. "I can understand that...Mummy will be pleased if you're posing as my girlfriend, she worries that if Sherlock or myself are to ever find someone they won't be able to keep up."

"So, she's worried you'll pick up a goldfish and then grow bored with it?"

Mycroft hesitates. "Are you ever going to let that go? It was just a passing comment."

You laugh. "Sorry, Charlie, you're never living that down."

Mycroft glares at Sherlock. "Why did you have to tell her that?"

Sherlock shrugs. "What, you think I'm going to stop you from getting another enemy?"

"Behave boys," you joke. A knock sounds on your door. Sherlock looks up. "I think that's them."

You frown. "Already?"

"If Anthea is calling about an emergency concerning my parents, typically they're already in town," Sherlock says. "Even I know that."

You give Sherlock a look. "Watch. It." You turn toward the door and walk up to it, taking a few calming breaths and putting on your brightest smile. "Hello~!" you sing as you open the door.


	17. Chapter 17

You pass as Mycroft's girlfriend fairly well, and you can tell that Mrs. Holmes is ecstatic that "Mikey" has found someone.

Mycroft grimaces the entire time, and Sherlock is just standing in a corner, trying to hide from his mother without leaving, presumably. "What do you do for a living, dear?" Mrs. Holmes asks.

"Oh...don't laugh at me," you plead. "I'm a writer. I have several manuscripts in the editing process and I submit to literary magazines almost monthly, and I get enough money to live off of."

Mrs. Holmes looks impressed. "Laugh at you?! That's positively fantastic! You're doing something you love and making a steady living, just like Mikey!"

You snicker at that and look over to Mycroft, who's grimacing. "Yeah, 'Mikey' certainly enjoys his job!" you laugh.

Mycroft glares at you. Sherlock is laughing in the corner. Mr. Holmes looks at Mycroft and decides to change the subject. "So how did you two meet?"

"Um, through Sherlock, actually!" you laugh. "He came over asking how Sherlock was, but he accidentally insulted me, and I slapped him. Then we kind of became enemies, and then allies, and now..." you shrug. "I guess you know."

Mycroft gave you a _really?_ look. You shrug. "Hey, if you have a better way to explain it you're welcome to," you invite out loud.

He shakes his head and waves a hand in a dismissing motion. "I'm not participating in this."

You roll your eyes and shrug. "Suit yourself."

The conversation continues avidly well into the afternoon, but you're starting to get your energy sucked from you, and Mrs. Holmes shows no sign of stopping her talking.

You smile politely but feel the strain growing. Eventually, you say, "Listen, this has been fun, but shouldn't you guys find a place to stay overnight?"

"Oh, right. I suppose you two love birds want to be alone, don't you?" Mrs. Holmes winked.

"Um...you might have to stay with Sherlock. Unfortunately, 'Mikey' isn't staying with me by choice," you sigh with a smile.

Sherlock keeps glaring at you. "My spare bedroom is currently taken, actually. The Watsons are having a domestic. John's using it."

Everyone pauses. "Um...w-well..." you stammer. _Fantastic grace under pressure [l/n]!_ You berate.

Sherlock glares holes in your skull and you shrug helplessly. "I don't know what to do," you admit. "There's the beanbag, someone can take that?" you weakly offer.

Mr. Holmes smiles at you. "It's okay, sweetheart," he says. "That bean bag does look comfortable."

You smile. "A-and I bet that the air mattress can be put to use too," you add.

"Well, what are you comfortable with, dear?" Mrs. Holmes asks you.

You look at Mycroft. "It's not me I'm worried about," you laugh nervously.

"Oh, come now, my dear. I'm hardly wary of sharing a bed with you," he smirks.

You swallow. "Good. Then your parents can use the air mattress and the bean bag."

Sherlock smirks. "I thought you prize your privacy, [y/n]?"

"No, don't get me wrong, I do. I'm exhausted right now. But I'm not about to leave someone out on the street, either. Unlike _someone_ who has a _couch_ and a _disused bedroom_.

Sherlock frowns. "I said John was using the guest room."

"I'm talking about _your_ room, idiot," you laugh. "I can hear your violin all the way in the basement!"

Sherlock huffs in annoyance and leaves. You smile good naturedly at Mr. and Mrs. Holmes. "We really get along, most of the time. Things just...pop up. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an important date set for dinner tonight with a client of mine." You take your laptop and leave, not noticing Mycroft making excuses and trailing behind you.


	18. Chapter 18

"Is this seat taken?" Mycroft asks in the café you snuck to.

"Mmm...might be. Are you sitting there?"

"Funny," he sighs, and sits down. "I thought you had an appointment with a client?"

"Myself. I have to edit my novel sometime, right?" you ask with a smirk.

Mycroft rolls his eyes. "Is it okay if I have dinner with you?"

You arch an eyebrow. "Careful, Holmes. Things like that can make it sound like we're _dating_."

Mycroft scoffs and rolls his eyes. "Who cares what goldfish think?"

You pout a bit. "So...does that include me? It doesn't seem like you care what I think. You just...do your own thing."

Mycroft looks at you funnily. "The reason I don't listen to you a lot is because you often don't apply common sense to your theories."

"Oh yeah? Name one!"

"When you and I discussed the merits of Star Wars movies and dueling with light sabers rather than the Force, your exact defense was, 'Because reasons, Holmes!'" Mycroft crosses his arms.

You deflate a bit. "Oh...yeah, I guess..." the waitress comes over with your chicken salad. "Oh, thanks," you smile at her.

She smiles back and looks over. "Boyfriend?"

"Just a friend," you laugh. "But that doesn't keep him from acting like one sometimes! He's the protective type," you whisper conspiratorially. "He'll take a house salad, no onions. Blue cheese on the side."

The waitress nods. "Coming right up!"

Mycroft looks at you. "I am not the protective type!"

"You had me stay at your house for 3 months for 'observation'! If that's not protective of your younger brother, it's over-protective! Get off your high horse, Holmes, and show a bit of humility!"

Mycroft wrinkles his nose at the nickname. "You know I hate it when you call me Holmes."

You shrug. "Sorry, but that's sort of why I do it."

Mycroft scoffs. "Real mature."

You smile innocently at him. "Laugh a little, Holmes," you smirk.

Mycroft sighs. "As you wish."

The waitress comes back with Mycroft's food and the two of you talk writing for a while, before moving to _Doctor Who_  and ultimately living arrangements. "So, you weren't kidding about sharing a bed, earlier, were you?" Mycroft asks.

"Did I say anything about sharing a bed?" You ask. "If I recall correctly, you're the one who brought that up in front of your parents."

"And you agreed," Mycroft pointed out.

You sigh. "If we have to, I will," you allow.

"Well, I'm afraid we have to for the sake of appearances," Mycroft lamented.

You grimace. "Well, then. I take my showers at night. If you peek at anything you're dead."

Mycroft scoffs. "Please. As if I would do that to a lady."

"Well, then," you say as you get the money to pay for your meal and his out. "Into battle, after dinner?"

"Into battle, after dinner," he agrees.


	19. Chapter 19

Mycroft is warm.

And that is such a weird thing to say, but sharing the bed, it's all you can think about. He's really, really warm. He looks over at you, in your pajamas and bra, because you didn't feel comfortable taking it off around him, and rolls his eyes. "What are you thinking about?"

"Your warm," you whisper.

Mycroft scoffs and turns on his side to face you. "We're sharing a bed to trick our parents into thinking that we're dating and all you can say is that I radiate body heat? Are you really that ignorant to human anatomy, [y/n]?" he teases.

"Shut up. I'm seriously perturbed by this development," you defend.

He arches an eyebrow. "Perturbed? Really?"

You laugh. "It's a word! I use it! Problem?"

"Oh, there would be if you weren't a writer. Only a writer would actually say 'perturbed'."

"Shut up!" you laugh.

"Not a chance," Mycroft says, rolling onto his back. "This is far too much fun."

You laugh lightly and pull the duvet up over your face like you did when you were little. "Did you ever hide under your duvet and stay up real late doing something you weren't supposed to?"

Mycroft hummed and joined you under the duvet. "I would stay up reading past 10 o'clock."

"I read _The Tale of Despareux_ until, like, 2 AM once, because I simply couldn't put it down."

"Some how, I don't think that's odd when it comes to you," Mycroft chuckles. "It seems...not obvious, but...natural...in a way."

"It seems like something I'd do," you fill in. "That's what that natural feeling is. It seems innate to my personality that I'd stay up to read."

Mycroft nods, pulling the duvet around himself and going outside for air before coming back in.

You curl up under the duvet trying to gather warmth and you instinctively scoot closer to Mycroft to achieve that. He looks down at you, faintly amused and more than a little hesitant. "Shut up and help me get warm," you order.

"Yes, ma'am," Mycroft laughs, moving the duvet so your heads are out above it, and pulls you up against his chest, which you hesitate about but accept.

The two of you fall asleep snuggled together, and stay that way the rest of the night.

* * *

The next morning, you wake up first as usual and briefly panic at the feel of Mycroft's body pressed against yours in the bed, until you remember everything that happened yesterday. You get up and go out to make tea. Mycroft comes out of your bedroom shortly after, looking extremely confused. "Where are my parents?"

You look around and realize for the first time they're gone. You find a note. "'Gone back home, give us a call whenever you two decide to really start dating.' Wow, your parents are...something," you laugh as your tea steeps. "My mum is, too. My dad...well, let's just say he and I saw eye-to-eye in everything except everything," you sigh.

Mycroft blinks at you mutely and walks over. "Would a...friend reassure you with a hug in this situation?"

You nod. "Mostly, yeah."

Mycroft takes your tea and carefully puts it on the counter before hugging you. "How come you're so warm all the time?!" you laugh.

"I don't know," he admits. "It's better than being cold all the time like you, though."

"Mm. I think I like you a lot. I'm not sure if it's platonic or what, but I've grown to sort of accept you like a dog that follows me around sometimes."

"Oh, ha ha ha. Very funny," he snarks, backing up and handing you your tea. "I need to get ready for work," he grumbles.

You grin. "Go ahead. Your fake girlfriend won't wait up."

Mycroft pulls a face at you and heads for the shower.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's is short, and a bit of a filler, but...in it's own way, I think it's important. Though you guys can judge that for yourselves.

Things return to normalcy soon after that. Mycroft's house is cleared and so he clears out of your place. Nothing much happens to you except you get your copy of the literary magazine you submitted your work to- _The_ _Strand_ -and your story is, true to Mycroft's word, the center spread, and you squeal at that. It's fantastic for you, and you get several commissions from it, and a possible publishing deal. Sherlock invites you up to his to be talked at every once in a while, and you get to know John a little better because of it.

It's one day as you submit your latest pieces that you hear it: a muffled commotion between Mrs. Hudson and some unknown entity. You go up the stairs quickly and find her and Mycroft discussing, quite loudly, Sherlock's drug habits. "Mycroft? Ms. Martha? Is everything all right?"

"Sherlock's getting high," Mycroft says tightly.

You blink. "I-I had no idea! I mean, I know that he's been inviting this girl over lately for a case or something, you know? But I never suspected he'd be using. He told me he did before, but..." you frown. "Who said this, anyway?"

"John called, dear," Mrs. Hudson says. "He says that he found Sherlock in a drug den."

You sigh. "So that's where he was going last night. I tried to catch him, but he was a bit preoccupied. Seemed like he was doing something he really didn't want to do."

Mycroft looks at you carefully. "Are you sure he didn't want to?"

"He was pacing and muttering to himself," you shrug. "It looked like he was debating a few things mentally."

Mycroft sighs. "It would take more than that for me to believe he didn't want to get high, my dear."

You shrug. "One can hope, though, right?"

"With Sherlock, one just has to hope there's not too much damage control needed."

You take a deep breath. "Mycroft, I need you to take a deep breath for me, 'cause you seem really tense, and that's not good for you."

Mycroft actually glares at you, like he hasn't in months. "And what will that do? Release my feelings? Cure my 'bad energy'?"

"Keep you from lashing out," you say quietly. "Like that, to someone who actually matters. I'm just a friend, I know, but your brother's gonna come home, the least you can do is not antagonize him as much."

He frowns, confused. "[Y/n]...?"

You shake your head. "Don't worry about it. I'll help search upstairs, okay? You just keep calm, and carry on."

It looks like Mycroft might stop you, but eventually he just nods. "All right, then."

You smile. "I don't hold you snapping against me, you know," you say as you go upstairs. "It hurts, but you're hurting, so I understand. Maybe later we can talk yeah?" you ask without really waiting for an answer.

As you head upstairs, you hear Mycroft sigh and sit on the stairs, muttering, "What did I ever do to deserve her as a friend?"


	21. Chapter 21

You're sitting in your living room on your beanbag and enjoying your new (to you) coffee table by propping your feet up on it when Mycroft walks in, rubbing your arm. "I take it your talk didn't go over well?" you ask, frowning in concern.

"I'm afraid not," Mycroft replies sitting on the edge of your beanbag. "But I have something I'd like to ask of you."

You nod. "Okay...?"

Mycroft leans back on the beanbag. "Well, we've been friends for a few months now, and I'm still getting used to...the emotions that come with it. But...there are a few anomalies about it that I can't explain as the friendship."

You sit up. "So...what are you saying, Mycroft?"

Mycroft looks away, then back at you. "It's nothing obligatory, and I completely understand if you say no, but...I was wondering if you'd like to go on...a _date_ with me?"

You split into a goofy grin. "Of course! That sounds like fun!"

Mycroft's lips quirk up a bit in a genuine smile. "Good. I'd love to see what romantic feelings are like, if that's indeed what I'm feeling."

"For science?" you tease.

"Is there any other reason?" he asks with a smirk.

You laugh and give him a quick peck to the cheek. "So where do you want to go on our _date_?"

"Well, um...I have the stuff for pizza at my place, detestable though it is. We could...make our own for dinner, then watch some Tom Baker-era _Doctor Who_?"

"Sounds perfect," you admit.

"Good, because I got everything with you in mind," Mycroft says, pleased with himself.

You stare at him in shock and hit him lightly. "Are you kidding me? My ideal date is more or less just that!"

Mycroft shrugged. "Well, I did do some digging and found an old dating site..." he starts.

"No!" you interrupt. "No! No, no! We are not speaking about that, ever!" you assert.

Mycroft chuckles and takes your hand. "Well, then, my dear, shall we go to my house?"

You grin and stand up. "I think we shall, Mr. Holmes," you giggle as the two of you leave your flat.

Sherlock is standing at the door and stares at your joined hands. "[Y/n]? Mycroft? What is going on here?" he asks in utter confusion.

"It's simple, Sherlock," you say. "Mycroft and I are going to his place to make pizza and watch Doctor Who. Nothing sinister, just good telly."

Sherlock frowns, still trying to wrap his head around what you said. "Is this as friends...? Or as in a date?"

Mycroft smirks. "Well, Sherlock. If you're _really_ the smart one, then you should be able to figure out pretty quickly which answer to your question is correct."

Sherlock wrinkles his nose. "Oh, [y/n]. I expected better of you!"

"It's one date, Sherlock. It doesn't change anything between us."

Sherlock gags. "Oh, you even _sound_ sentimental. Do you even hear what she's saying, brother?"

Mycroft nods. "And I'm...oddly pleased about it."

You look at him and grin. "Come on, then. Let's go to your place. I'm looking forward to seeing you make pizza."

Sherlock looks between the two of you, completely shell-shocked. "This is a thing, then? You two?"

You and Mycroft lock eyes, and you smile. "I don't know," you say. "And that's the most exciting part."


	22. Chapter 22

Unexpected. That's all you can say about the sight in the kitchen as you're kneading the dough after it rose enough to be useable. Mycroft had walked in...without wearing his 3-piece suits. Okay, so he was just missing his jacket, but his sleeves were rolled up to the elbows and you had never realized that there was indeed strong muscle underneath, which you could see from where Mycroft was kneading beside you. He glances over at your staring and smirks. "Something wrong, my dear?"

You blush. "N-no! I was just uh, just...uh, noting that you...well...work out," you stammer.

Mycroft laughs. "Don't tell Sherlock though, he'll insist I fight back whenever he tries to hit me."

You choke. "P-please tell me I heard that wrong. Hits _on you?!_ "

Mycroft actually turns red in the face he laughs so hard. " _Punches_ me! Good grief, [y/n]! _Where_ do you get these ideas?!"

"Shut up! I can't hear everything perfectly!" you defend.

Mycroft continues to laugh as he goes back to kneading. "Your lack of faith disturbs me," he says.

" _Star Wars_?" you query. "You can quote _Star Wars_?"

He shrugs. "Yeah. It was big when I was a child, after all. Is it really that big of a surprise that I'd see it if one of my friends happened to find a special of it on or even managed to afford a VCR and the tape?"

"I suppose not," you say with a shrug. "Took me off guard, is all."

Mycroft hums and passes you a rolling pin. "Make it as thin or as thick as you'd like, so long as it doesn't fall apart when you go to pick it up."

You grin and start expertly working the dough. Mycroft watches you. "You're surprisingly good at this."

"I worked for a pizzeria one summer during my Uni years. A cook. I learned how to do all this easily," you toss the dough in the air and it flips to its other side, which you roll a little more and then stop. "Viola!" you exclaim. "The perfect pizza!"

"The perfect pizza is a circle of dough?" Mycroft asks.

"Shut up! It's the perfect pie part of the pizza," you elaborate.

Mycroft smirks and takes the rolling pin so he can use it. "You know, I don't find many people interesting...but [y/n], I find you positively _fascinating_ , for lack of a better word."

You blush. "Thank you, I think."

Mycroft nods. "It was meant as a compliment. Now, do you want tomato sauce, or white sauce?"

"Um...tomato tonight," you decide.

The two of you put sauce on your pizzas, and you make sure to pile yours with only the finest of toppings (aka your favorites) and pop the pizzas into the oven. Mycroft gestures to the living room and you're bounding over there to look at the selection he has set out. The choices are good. _Key to Time_ , _The Talons of Weing-Chiang_ , but you have to admit, if you can only watch one, you'd want to see _Genesis of the Daleks_. "I've got the episode I want to see!" you call.

Mycroft walks in and looks at the case you have in your hand. "Good choice!" he praises. "The pizza should be ready by the end of the first episode. Then we can spend the last five enjoying them."

"Sounds good," you hum. "So, shall we pop the DVD in?"


	23. Chapter 23

You almost hate to admit it, but you love sitting next to Mycroft on the couch, eating pizza and watching telly together. Really, you don't know why this is the perfect night in, but somehow it all seems to fit together like a large jigsaw puzzle that just received its last missing piece. Mycroft hums next to you. "This is about as close to an ideal night you can get, I agree."

You elbow him. "Haven't I told you not to deduce me?"

"Yes," Mycroft hums. "Doesn't mean I won't do it sometimes."

You sigh and lean further back into the couch. "You know, sometimes I wish you'd just shut up."

Mycroft chuckles and looks over at you. "You don't mean that, do you?"

You shrug. "I mean it a little," you mumble petulantly.

Mycroft smirks at you and goes back to watching the TV.

"Hey, I just realized something!" you bolt upright and look over at Mycroft.

Mycroft rolls his eyes and looks over at you.

"Considering this is a good date, at least, if not a great one, we'll probably want to make another date. right? And then another, and another. But...well, we're gonna have to tell your parents. That we're dating again. For real this time."

Mycroft groans. "That will be...awkward..."

"You're telling me?! I figured that out on my own, even someone as slow as I am can know that!" you gesture emphatically with a slice of pizza in your hand.

"You're not slow," Mycroft corrects automatically.

"Aw, how sweet of you, _Mikey_ ," you giggle.

Mycroft glares at you. "Never say that again."

"All right!" you surrender.

"Ever. I mean it!"

"All right all right!" you laugh. "It's just funny!"

Mycroft glares at you still, but you go back to enjoying the show. "I hate that nickname," he grumbled.

You look over and sympathetically smile at him. "You're not the only one with an embarrassing childhood nickname."

Mycroft sighed. "But I'm probably the only government official who would never hear the end of it if it got out. Can you imagine all your coworkers in an office calling you 'Pookie,' or something like that?"

"Haha! I can't even imagine myself working in an office!" you exclaim. "Let alone people calling me _that_!"

Mycroft snickered at your reaction, and you shove him. "Shut up, idiot," you laugh.

"Make me," he challenges.

You glance all over him and smile. "Well, I imagine you make a good kisser, but I'm not quite ready to commit that much yet."

Mycroft chokes on air. "That's...what?!"

"Hm, that certainly shut you up," you grin.

Mycroft scowls at you, and you laugh again. "I love this," you say. "Can we do this again?"

"Of course," Mycroft says. "That is the purpose of...dating, is it not?"

"Yeah, I guess..." you look away. "Does this mean we're dating then?"

"I suppose," he sighs. "How tedious."

"We're not dating if you call me tedious!" you snap.

"Not you, just the phrasing."

You pout, somewhat appeased. "What do you want to call it, then?"

You heart skips a bit as you hear the answer. "Courting, probably."


	24. Chapter 24

The date is nice, but as always, it has to end. You stand at the door of your flat, your [e/c] eyes meeting his blue ones. "I really enjoyed this," you smile. "I know it's probably obvious, but I really did."

"My dear, with you, nothing is as it seems," Mycroft chuckled.

You blush. "I take it that's a compliment," you laugh.

"Indeed," Mycroft agrees. "I'm afraid that I can't offer you anything as regular as the same time next week..." he sighs.

You smile. "The fact that you want that is more than enough for me," you assure. "You're amazing, and I'd love to do this whenever you have the time to do it again."

There's a gagging noise from upstairs and you giggle as Sherlock makes his eavesdropping known. Mycroft looks down at you, slightly amused, and kisses you on the cheek. "Good night, [y/n]. I'll call you soon."

"I look forward to it," you grin, and head into your own flat.

Not 5 minutes later as you're steeping tea do Sherlock and John come into your flat unannounced. "You have a problem," Sherlock states.

"I know. I write for a living," you smile into your tea.

"No. I mean with Mycroft."

"Oh, the Stock-Holmes Syndrome thing? I don't think it's that anymore. I have my own space again. Your brother just happens to be a nice person."

Sherlock stared at you in shock. "Mycroft?! Nice?! This is worse than I thought..." he muttered.

John just gave you a sigh. "Well, you've gone on cases with Sherlock, and you seem to be a neighbor he tolerates, so I can't say I'm surprised. Just be careful, okay?"

You grin. "Oh believe me. I won't be the one who needs to be careful in the relationship," you laugh.

"So you two are--?!" Sherlock runs to the bathroom and starts making hurling noises.

"Real mature," you mutter. "Sherlock I expect you to clean up after yourself down here!" you call out.

John chuckles at that. "I'm not sure he will, but I'll help you clean up if he doesn't."

"Thanks, but it's not your flat. It's mine. I can deal with it."

Sherlock comes out of the bathroom looking faintly ill. "You are coming upstairs with me."

You raise your eyebrows. "Will I?"

"Ugh. You even sound like him!" Sherlock groused.

"That's not the date, that's just me getting used to you," you point out, but Sherlock isn't having it, grabbing you by the wrist and pulling you upstairs to 221B. "Sherlock!" you yell. "Let me go!"

Mrs. Hudson comes out of her apartment and asks, "Sherlock, what are you doing to the poor girl?"

"Ms. Martha! I think Sherlock's finally snapped!" you yell. "He doesn't approve of my dating life!"

Mrs. Hudson split into a grin. "[Y/n]! You found a man?"

"And Sherlock's punishing me for it!" you remind her.

"Sherlock, let her go!" Mrs. Hudson demands.

"But-"

"-No buts, young man, let her go!"

Sherlock releases his grip and you take a few steps down from him, nodding slightly in vindictive pleasure. "I'll date who I want to date, and whether that's the guy down the street or your brother, you have no say in the matter, is that clear?"

Sherlock glares at you. "You're making a big mistake, you know."

"Live and learn," you retaliate. "I may get a bit bruised, but I'll come back stronger than before. And right now, at least, things are pleasant between me and Mycroft, and I intend to enjoy that."

"You don't expect it to last?" Sherlock arches an eyebrow.

"Truthfully, I don't know what to expect. But no one is going to stop me from enjoying myself for however long this...courting goes on, and if it's a success, well!" you smile at the thought. "I think I'd be a very happy woman. Talk to you tomorrow?" you offer heading back to your flat. "I have some things to take care of before the next date."

"Like what?" Sherlock asks.

"Like figuring out what, exactly, should I plan for the next date!" you call up.

Sherlock groans at you and slams his door. You just smile and go downstairs to your flat to plan...and also get some sleep before Sherlock starts up his violin playing again.


	25. Chapter 25

_You look up at the man who's dancing with you, and you laugh. "This just seems so surreal," you explain at his confused look._

_Mycroft looks around. "Dancing in my living room to your phone's playlist is surreal?"  
_

_You shake your head. "It's more...this thing between us. You courting me. It's not something I ever would have expected."  
_

_Mycroft chuckles. "Is this something good, though?"  
_

_"O-of course!" you stammer out. Why do you stammer when you're nervous, but not when you're stressed? It's annoying!  
_

_"Good," Mycroft kisses you on the cheek. "Because I think this thing is a good thing, too."  
_

You open your eyes, still in bed, a stupid smile on your face. It was only a dream, but it was a wonderful dream. You get out of bed and change into your [f/c] T-shirt and ratty old jeans. Today is a day for comfort. Your phone rings and you reach for it, checking the caller ID and smiling. "Morning, Mycroft," you answer.

"You dreamed about me, didn't you? You're usually not this happy in the morning, and judging by our successful date..." he laughs.

"Shut up," you say, going to your kitchen to make some tea. "How are you?"

"Fine, my dear, just fine, but..." Mycroft stops. "I'm afraid I won't be available for a few days. I hope you understand."

"Of course, Mycroft. No big deal. Stay safe."

"When am I not?" Mycroft huffs.

"When you're being arrogant," you reply. "Just be safe."

"Got it, ma'am," he laughs. "Talk soon."

"I'll hold you to that," you joke.

Mycroft chuckles and hangs up.

You close your eyes and laugh. This all just seems so unreal. You and Mycroft, going out. Though if you're actually dreaming still, Sherlock's reaction was spot on. Still chuckling, you pad up the steps to 221A where Mrs. Hudson resides. You knock on the door and grin when she opens the door. "Morning, Ms. Martha. How're you doing."

"Fine, dear. Can I talk to you about some jobs that I need done soon?" she asks, letting you in.

"Yeah, always Ms. Martha. What's up?" you ask.

Mrs. Hudson smiles at you and with a sigh, says, "Sherlock's been shooting inside the house again. I need you to plug up his holes with a bit of plaster."

"Of course, Ms. Martha! That's no problem!" you smile.

She smiles at you. "Oh dear, do you think you could do it today? It's taking away quite a bit of the heat in the house."

You nod. "I can do it right now."

Mrs. Hudson tuts at you. "Thank you, [y/n]."

You smile. "I'm glad to help, and it's in my lease, isn't it? A live-in fix-it girl," you joke. "Do you have any plaster, or do I need to go out and buy some?"

"Oh, I have some, dear, I've been meaning to ask you about it."

You nod and Mrs. Hudson pulls out a can of plaster from her bedroom and gives it to you with a trowel. "Sherlock's been a bit difficult," Mrs. Hudson warns you.

"Nothing I can't handle," you say confidently.

Mrs. Hudson smiles at you and you return it, walking up to 221B to work on the holes Sherlock is evidently putting into the wall.

Sherlock looks over at you and growls. "Well, well. Mrs. Hudson finally sent you up here. I was wondering when you'd show your face again."

You roll your eyes. "Oh, Sherlock. It was just one date. Can't you wait to antagonize me until the engagement?" you joke.

"No. Not with that attitude," Sherlock says firmly.

You turn to look at him as you head to the kitchen to add a little bit of water to the plaster in an effort to make it easier to move. "C'mon, Sherlock. We were getting along so well, too."

Sherlock just grunts and waves to the wall you need to work on. "Crap, Ms. Martha wasn't joking, was she?! You're taking a bleeding gun to the walls!"

Sherlock grunts again. You tut and start plugging up the holes. "You're a ridiculous man, Sherlock Holmes," you declare.

You expect a reply, but get one not in words but in Sherlock sticking his fingers in your sides. You squeal and drop the plaster. "Sherlock! No!"

You hear someone running up the steps and see John in the doorway. "Sherlock, leave her alone!"

Sherlock puts his hands at his sides and you hastily pick up the plaster, tsking at how it got in the carpet. "Well, that's never coming out," you lament.

Sherlock brushes past John out the door. "I have a meeting. Don't wait up, either of you."

John clears his throat and looks at you. "Well..." he starts. "Need some help?"


	26. Chapter 26

"Help isn't necessary, but company is appreciated," you smile at John. "I only have the one trowel."

"Well let me try to get the plaster out of the carpet, then," John offered.

You think about it, then smile. "If that's how I'll have some guilt-free company, then of course."

John got a wet rag which looked suspiciously like one of Sherlock's shirts, and scrubbed at the plaster. "So, you and Mycroft?" he asked tentatively.

"Yeah," you say. "Problem?"

"Are you happy? He's treating you all right?"

"Yes and yes," you say.

"Then I'm fine with it," John says. "But the second he does you wrong, you just come to me, all right?"

"Understood," you say with a grin. "If he acts anything less than a gentleman I'll call you over to watch the smack-down."

John laughed. "Okay, maybe you can handle yourself."

" _Maybe_?" you ask incredulously. "I'll have you know I am an expert at handling myself."

"Okay, okay!" John laughs.

You join in, just because you find the whole situation hilarious. Before you know it, you've finished replastering the holes and John has cleaned up the carpet. You look at each other awkwardly. "So...what now?" you ask. "I don't feel like writing today, to be honest..."

"There's always crap telly," John grins.

You laugh. "Yeah, I suppose."

"It's always more fun to watch with someone else, and I know Mrs. H always enjoys company."

You grimace. "That's true, but she'll also be pestering me for details on my date for hours."

John takes this in. "Well, you could always watch a cheesy medical drama with me..."

"Platonically?" you ensure.

John nods.

"Sure," you grin.

The show is completely awful, but between John's knowledge and yours, you both make good fun of the show. You're laughing at a joke John made about surgery when you hear someone clear their throat at the door. Sherlock is there, with an evil grin. "I suppose the date didn't go as well as you made it out to if you're fraternizing with my blogger the morning after one your 'perfect night in'."

You blush horribly. "Were you eavesdropping on us?!"

"Please. My brother isn't the only one who can access the Internet."

"I'm never going online again," you shudder. "And it's not like that! We were just watching some cheesy medical drama for giggles."

Sherlock scoffs. "People don't share a couch and remain just friends for long."

"Name 3 cases."

"You and my brother, for the first one," Sherlock says, but before he can name another he gets a slap across his cheekbones.

John laughs behind you, but it quickly turns into a cough at your glare. You turn back to Sherlock. "For your information, John and I were enjoying a bit of crap telly after cleaning up after _you_. No one had to work, so we decided to waste some time together rather than alone. Problem?"

Sherlock keeps his smug little grin and walks into the flat, revealing Mycroft behind him. "Hey, Mycroft," you say. "You go to the same meeting as Sherlock?"

Mycroft doesn't respond, just stares at you. You cock you head to the side, looking him over to make your own deductions about what he's thinking. "This isn't about John and I watching Scrubs on Netflix, is it?" you say. "No...hm...me slapping Sherlock? Are you that protective? No one can lay a hand on him even when he's out of line?"

Mycroft shakes his head. "No, slapping him is my job, not yours."

"Except you don't actually slap him, even when he needs it," you retort. "Call it a hobby if you must."

"A hobby requires repeated actions," Mycroft points out.

"Correcting the both of you, then. I already slapped you," you laugh.

Mycroft frowns. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't hurt him?"

You roll your eyes and sigh. "Fine...but only if he doesn't insult me anymore."

Sherlock scoffs. You turn to look at him, and then turn back to Mycroft. "I make no promises," you say with a sweet smile. "You busy?"

"Not anymore," Mycroft says. "You have any reason for asking?"

"I was thinking the two of us could talk somewhere away from annoying family members?"

Sherlock makes an indignant noise and starts playing his violin. Mycroft makes a face. "Yes, maybe a walk is in order?"

"Sounds lovely," you say. "After you."


	27. Chapter 27

It's quite cloudy out that day, but it's warm enough that it's not stopping people from taking a stroll through London's parks. You and Mycroft are walking slowly, your hands brushing occasionally, but not often enough to bother either of you. Your fingers twitch, wanting to hold his, but you know that based on his job, he probably has quite the assortment of unfortunate reflexes. "So..." you say idly. "Should we talk about anything, or is silence good for you like it is to me?"

"I'm fine with silence, but if you feel the need to talk, I'll listen," he says diplomatically.

You glance around at the kids playing on the grass, and smile. "Kids," you laugh. "I remember when I was that age. It was horrible."

Mycroft chuckles. "Oh? What was so bad about it?"

"My parents, mostly. They didn't like me writing, or reading. Thought I needed to find a hobby that could turn into a proper profession," you sigh.

Mycroft frowns. "But you have a proper profession!" he states.

You shrug. "Yeah, maybe. But not to them."

He makes a noncommittal noise next to you, and you look over at him, a small smile playing at your features. "I wouldn't worry, though. They've accepted me as much as they'll allow, and I'm fine taking what I can get."

"You've never tired for more?" he asks.

You shrug and your hands brush again. "Usually it doesn't end well if I try for anything else. They don't really appreciate what I do, just like I never understood how they could do something they hated. I mean, everyone has those days that they can't stand, but those were their good days. They had convinced themselves that being miserable was the only way you could get ahead in the world, and they tried to shove that down my throat as well. I think they resent me for doing what I like rather than what they want."

Mycroft looks at you, startled. You give him a half-smile. "What?"

"Most people wouldn't be able to do that sort of thing. A majority of people just give in to their parents. Or whoever they're up against."

You watch Mycroft's hand swinging and catch it in your own with a smile. "Not me. Not if I have any say in it," you say with a smile.

Mycroft smiles back at you for the briefest of seconds before the ever-present smirk returns. "On the subject of children..."

"Oh, you don't secretly have any, do you?" you ask in mock-horror.

Mycroft chuckles. "Not that I know of. I was just wondering what your opinion of them are. In general. And not because I have any plans of getting your pregnant, just as a conversation topic."

"You have to clear that up?" you laugh.

"In most cases, yes. People suspect you of ulterior motives otherwise."

You smile. "Your life must be interesting. Kids are okay. Draining, demanding. But tolerable, and I guess I could imagine having one or two of my own someday. I don't know. They're just...part of life, do you know what I'm saying?"

Mycroft nods. "I do. Even though you talk yourself in circles, you tolerate children who aren't your own, and imagine that if you were the one to raise them, you would find them a lot easier to handle, because you can hardly punish a child who isn't yours, and thus they can get away with anything."

"More or less, yeah," you say. "You're good at filling in the gaps."

"It's my job, my dear," he says, looking at you. "And I wouldn't have gotten where I did if I wasn't good at it."

You concede he has a point, and say as much. The two of you stare ahead, not really looking at anything. "This is nice," you say, just as the clouds overhead open and a torrent of rain quickly appears.

Mycroft opens his ever present umbrella and pulls you under it. You laugh. "Ah, so that's why the umbrella," you laugh.

Mycroft grins. "That, and it has the double use of being able to hide a switchblade or even a thin sword in the handle," he whispers conspiratorily.

"You're ridiculous!" you laugh. "Seriously, though. Is that true?" you ask in suspicion.

Mycroft just smiles at you and leads you in the direction of Baker Street.

"Mycroft, that's not an answer," you warn. "Do you want me to use that in one of my stories?"

"My dear," Mycroft hums. "If you mention that in any of your stories, no one will ever take you seriously."

"I'm an author. Why would anyone take me seriously?" you laugh.

Mycroft smiles at your joke but turns serious. "You deserve to be taken seriously. You are a very bright woman, considering the IQ of the general population."

"Thanks, I think," you say playfully right before you run out from the umbrella to jump in the already forming puddles. Mycroft scoffs at you and you just pull him into the puddles with you. "C'mon! Live a little!" you exclaim.

Mycroft rolls his eyes and folds up his umbrella and, with a smirk, opens it again, shooting the water at you. You shriek and laugh at his antics, and shove him away from you into the quickly muddying grass. The two of you only stop when lightning cracks overhead, and then you oh-so-reluctantly walk the rest of the way back to Baker Street, since no cab is about to take two soaking wet and muddy adults. People passing you on the street are getting the wrong idea, if the looks they're giving you and Mycroft is anything to go by.

When you finally get to Baker Street, you go down to C and tell Mycroft, "I think you left one of your suits here when you moved out, you can change into that while I make tea."

"You aren't going to change?" Mycroft asks.

"Well not at the same time as you, creep!" you laugh. "Once the tea has steeped and you're done I'll get into something less wet and muddy and we can have a nice chat."

Mycroft nods and heads to your room. "Sounds nice," he admits over his shoulder. "But I can't do it long."

"Whatever time you have," you tell him confidently, "Will be fine."


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a Valentine's update, on me!

Mycroft really can't stay long and by 13:00 you're alone with your thoughts and a computer. You're sniffling a little bit, but don't pay it much mind, after all, who wouldn't be after spending an hour minimum jumping in puddles in the rain. Your fingers occasionally tap the keys, your writer's block coming swinging in full force today. Mycroft's words come back to you and you grin, turning the pen your secretary in the story had into a deadly weapon in disguise, and suddenly the words flow a bit easier, turning the unassuming woman into an assassin. It's perfect, especially since you wanted to make a drama but wasn't sure what that drama should be about. Suddenly it was a struggle of the life the woman wanted versus the one she found herself being pulled back into, and it was surprisingly easy to write. You didn't even notice when 2 hours went by and you were still writing.

A knock at your door finally pulled you away from your thoughts, and you're vaguely irritated until you see a concerned Sherlock on the other side sag with relief. "You weren't with him."

"With who?" you gasp as Sherlock hugs you. "What's happened, Sherlock?"

"There was a nasty car accident today. A driver lost control after trying to break too quickly on the wet roads. American, I think. Not used to driving here. It...caused quite a few chain collisions."

"So?" you ask. "Why did you say I wasn't with 'him'? Who's him?"

John walks up behind Sherlock and laughs when he sees you. "I thought you were with Mycroft!" he says, trying to be light, not knowing the information you've just been given.

"Mycroft was in the crash?!" you exclaim. "Is he okay?!"

"He's in surgery, last I heard," John says. "Got pieces of the door he was sitting next to lodged in different parts of his body, but supposedly no major veins or arteries were punctured, from what I could get out of the nurse who answered my call."

You shake. "Will he be okay?"

"The nurse sounded optimistic," John reassured.

"No she didn't, she sounded clinical," Sherlock corrected.

"Shut up, Sherlock!" you and John say at the same time.

"I'm going to see him," you decide, grabbing your car keys. "You guys are welcome to join me."

You don't wait for an answer, just walk out to your car and start it, as Sherlock rushes to clamber into the back seat. You drive like a demon while Sherlock directs you where to go. The two of you hop out the car and go to reception. "My brother is in surgery," Sherlock says. "He was in the car crash today."

The nurse gives the two of you directions to the waiting room, and, once there, Sherlock is silent, just sitting in a chair and waiting. You glance toward the door every once in a while, but mostly thumb through your phone on airplane mode. Not that anyone is around to chide you. The only thing you can think of is Mycroft's stupid pleased face when he soaked you with his umbrella just this morning. Why couldn't he have stayed to talk a little longer? Why didn't you insist he stayed a while or never let him know about the change of clothes so you'd have to wash his clothes and the two of you would wait for them to dry, bumping Mycroft's schedule back? Why were you so accommodating? "Stop it," Sherlock says.

"Stop what?" you ask dully.

"Blaming yourself," Sherlock says. "It's unbecoming."

You laugh. "If I had kept Mycroft longer..."

"His schedule wouldn't have been bumped back any. He would be reprimanded for missing a meeting and he still would have been on the road at the same time. This isn't your fault."

"It is, though," you sigh.

"It really isn't."

You close your eyes. "If I hadn't had that spare suit it would have taken him an easy 10 minutes extra to get where he needed to go, adjusting everything back by 10 minutes. It was my fault!"

"That Mycroft left a suit at your flat?" Sherlock scoffed. "I find that doubtful."

"I should have returned it," you protest.

"[Y/n], you really need to shut up and listen," Sherlock snaps. "This wasn't your fault, okay? If it were, I'd be blaming you right now, not trying to prove you wrong."

"Gee, thanks," you sigh.

"Just listen! This isn't your fault. I'd know if it were, and it's not. Okay? So just shut up and pray or do whatever it is you do to feel better about the situation. Mycroft will be fine."

You can tell even Sherlock doesn't believe that last part fully, but you still try to find solace in those words and close your eyes, leaning your head back against the wall, willing the doctors to work faster, to make sure Mycroft is all right.

"Excuse me," a nurse comes out. "Are you two here for a Mr. Holmes?"

You and Sherlock are up instantly. "Is he all right?" you ask, dreading the answer but needing to hear it.

"He is resting quietly now. It may take several weeks, but he should make a full recovery," the nurse smiled. "There was no permanent nerve damage, and while he lost some blood, it wasn't enough to cause complications. He'll be fine. You can go back and see him now."

You look at Sherlock eagerly and he and you hurry to the room the nurse gives directions to. When you two step inside, all the air goes out of your lungs. "Oh, Mycroft," Sherlock whispers.


	29. Chapter 29

Inside the room, Mycroft is unconscious on the bed, bandages covering his left arm and leg, and even parts of his face. He's thankfully not too pale, but his face has lost some of its normal color. You take a step forward, then hesitate, worried about breaking him if you get too close, which you know is ridiculous, but you're still scared. Sherlock gives you a nudge forward as he walks by, but still you stay rooted to your feet. Sherlock sits in the chair next to Mycroft, and after some deliberation, you turn around. "I should go. I don't want to intrude," you whisper.

"Stay," Sherlock offers. "I don't want to be alone with him if he wakes up, and I'm sure he'd much rather see you."

You shake your head. "Nah, I think he'd rather see you. You're his brother, after all. Besides, I think I might be getting sick, and I don't want to make him feel worse than he already does. The components in a car door...probably not comfortable crushing into someone's side, and they definitely wouldn't want a cold on top of it all."

"[Y/n]..." Sherlock says.

You turn around and look at him. "What?"

"He's dreaming right now. REM sleep can mean that someone is close to waking up."

"Can mean," you point out. "Look, Sherlock, I'll come back with dinner, if you want. But I don't think this is where I should be right now."

"Why not?" Sherlock presses.

"Because hospitals make me nervous, okay?!" you whisper-shout. "They unsettle me, ever since my mom nearly died a year ago. I'm really close to having flashbacks, and if I breathe in much disinfectant, I might go insane!"

Sherlock frowns. "You won't even stay for your boyfriend?"

You scowl. "I'm sure he'd understand. There are things that he can't handle and I don't push him to get through them for me."

"Mycroft was in a car wreck and you can't get past the smell of the hospital? What am I supposed to say when he wakes up and asks for you?"

"That I was triggered when I came here and had to leave! It's not hard, he'd understand!"

Sherlock rolls his eyes and leans back. "Okay. Leave."

You curtsy with a sarcastic, "Thank you, Your Majesty," and walk out, shuddering when you reach fresh air and nearly retch. It's not easy, but you manage to compose yourself enough to get to your car, and after making sure no one else is in it, you climb in and drive home. John is waiting for you. "Hey, how is he?"

"He'll be fine," you say flatly. "I, on the other hand need a warm bath and some alone time to feel better emotionally."

"Plenty of people don't like hospitals," John says with an understanding smile. "Go ahead and proceed with your bath."

You smile at him and go down to C, starting up the bath and sighing. Today started okay, but the ending needed work. You stop the bath and strip, getting in, and it relaxes your muscles enough to allow you to sigh in contentment as you reflect on the day.

Eventually the water grows cold and you have to get out reluctantly. You change into pajamas and make dinner for yourself, but you can't stop thinking about Mycroft. Much as you would have liked to stay with Sherlock and wait for him to wake up, you knew that you couldn't. You couldn't have taken much more strain on your nerves, and you wouldn't have been able to do anything for Mycroft in the midst of a meltdown besides cause him to panic. You eat mechanically and sit in front of your computer when your phone alerts you to a new text:  _Mycroft is up. He wants you. -SH_  


You close your eyes and continue to eat.

  
_[Y/n], he wants_ you.  _Not anyone else,_ you.  _-SH_  


You take a deep breath and mumble, "I'm not drunk enough for this."

_[Y/n] Sherlock isn't telling me anything. Are you okay? M_

That breaks you. You unlock your phone and type  _Hospitals make me nervous. Went to make sure you were okay, but couldn't stay long. Slap Sherlock for not telling you for me, yeah?_  


The reply is near instantaneous.  _Of course, my dear. I'll visit you as soon as I can get out of here. M_  


You grin and continue to eat a little easier. Knowing Mycroft is okay and not going down without a fight lifts a weight of your chest you weren't quite aware you had, but now that it's gone makes sense that it was there. Once done eating you go back to your story from earlier, enjoying the thrill of writing just as much as you did originally. You get so caught up you don't notice when half the night's gone by and you're still typing, and you eventually pass out from sheer exhaustion. But you do know that you're probably going to get a very nasty cold now from the rain and lack of sleep.


	30. Chapter 30

It takes longer than it should the next morning for you to wake up. You wouldn't necessarily call yourself a morning person, but you've never had such a hard time simply opening your eyes before! Well, no, that's not true. There was one time when you were little and sick and dust, skin, and mucus came together to form this awful glue over your eyes...you rub your hands over your eyes and feel it. Yup, you're definitely sick if you're getting that eye-glue thing. You stumble to the kitchen and wet a cloth with warm water, rubbing it over your eyes to get rid of it. Once that's done, you notice you're freezing. _F_ _an-bleeding-tastic_ , you think.

A knock at your door sends your head pounding, and you quickly go to answer it so they don't knock again. It's Sherlock. "You look like crap," he says by way of greeting.

"I had a feeling I would," you mumble. "Mycroft all right?"

"I was just going to see him, but something tells me you won't be coming along."

You laugh. "You think they'd even let me in like this? Not unless I was running a fever high enough that I needed immediate medical attention..." the world spins and you grip at the wall madly. "Ugh. Sorry."

Sherlock puts a hand on your head and hisses. "You're burning up."

"Oh, it's probably just a 38.3 fever," you shrug off. "Nothing to worry about, I'd just need some ibuprofen."

"Take your temperature," Sherlock instructs.

You roll your eyes and go to your medicine cabinet, pulling out the thermometer and popping it in your mouth. Sherlock watches you the entire time. The thermometer beeps, and it's not the everything-is-normal beep. It's the hey-pal-you-need-medicine beep. You pull it out and frown. "That can't be right," you croak.

Sherlock snatches it and his eyes widen. "39*C?! Right, I'm taking you to the hospital."

"Why would you do that when we have a perfectly good doctor upstairs?!" you ask. "Besides, I'm perfectly lucid, that thing probably just needs new batteries."

"Lucidity means nothing. You nearly passed out at the top of the stairs. There's not much John could do for you here besides giving you ice and ibuprofen," Sherlock reasons.

"That's what hospitals do too," you point out.

"They have stronger medicine," Sherlock counters. "And I can smuggle in some air freshener to get rid of the antiseptic smell."

"I can't believe I'm even considering your offer!" you sigh. "I must be really sick..." you shake your head and actually black out this time.

The next thing you know Sherlock is poking at you, trying to get you to wake up. "...Paramedics are on their way. Should be 2 minutes. [Y/n]? You with us?"

"Us?" you ask groggily. "Is John down here now, too?"

"Yup," John comes into your view and waves at you. "And lucidity is not an argument against going to the hospital, do we understand each other? I'm surprised you're as lucid as you are. I would not have expected that."

"I defy expectations," you giggle. "Though my associative memory is pretty messed up right now. I think of Sherlock and I see those statues of cherubs, like the nude ones with carefully placed legs and arms," you laugh which turns into a cough. "I think I'm sick."

John pats your shoulder, which feels like an earthquake went through your body. "Yeah. And we've called for help to get your fever down to help you feel better, okay? Sherlock said your fever was 39.16*C, which is a bit not good. So you're gonna have to go to the hospital."

You groan. "Whyyyyyy..."

"Because you're sicker than you think you are."

"I'm the picture of health," you argue.

"And that's why. You are not the picture of health, you are very sick, and it'd probably be best if you just shut up," John asserts.

You huff and cross your arms, still splayed on the floor. There are footsteps rushing to the bathroom, and paramedics come in. Sherlock and John both point at you. "She hit her head when she passed out, we haven't gotten the chance to see if she's okay yet," John says.

The paramedics help you up and you laugh. "Guys, I really don't need to go to the hospital!" you protest.

Sherlock says something, but you can't quite make out what it is. You feel yourself stiffen, and then you black out again.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um...please don't kill me?

Turns out, when you next come to, that you had a seizure from hitting your head on the floor and you got a concussion out of the fall to boot. The doctors order you to stay put as they give you all sorts of fluids and medicine (thankfully you were out of it when they gave you an ice bath to initially take down your temperature). The smell of the hospital keeps you on edge, and it's hard for you to calm down enough to not have nurses checking on you every so often. Deep breaths only make the smell worse, and you just want to sleep at this point, the cold sapping your strength. Though the footsteps into your room along with the clattering of metal make you rethink this train of thought, because you could use something to eat. You open your eyes and blue ones greet you. You sit up. "Mycroft?" you ask, your head swimming.

Mycroft hummed. "I heard you were admitted from Sherlock, wanted to make sure you were okay."

You shrug. "I'm fine, just a little black out during a cold. With a seizure. Nothing serious."

Mycroft chuckled. "I knew you hated hospitals, my dear, but enough to protest staying here after having a seizure?"

"Yes!" you state. "Hospitals are terrible!"

Mycroft chuckles and shakes his head slowly. "There is still much I have yet to learn about you," he sighs.

"Good thing or bad thing?" you ask.

"Good. Slightly confusing, but good nonetheless," he says with a smile.

"We could play 20 questions to get to know each other," you offer.

"No, my dear," Mycroft says. "You need to rest. I would hate to not be able to see you anymore."

"Flirt," you sigh as you shift to get more comfortable.

"Was I?" Mycroft asks.

"Yeah, you genuinely didn't think about how that would sound?"

"It's the medicine here, I think," Mycroft hums.

"Some sort of government conspiracy to give them an excuse to get rid of you," you joke.

Mycroft laughs. "Oh, they'd ask me how they should kill me so that Sherlock wouldn't figure it out. And I wasn't consulted."

You snort. "Well, that's a relief. I guess I don't have to worry about you dying just yet, then."

Mycroft's expression darkens. "Just because this attempt wasn't successful, doesn't mean that another won't happen."

You feel a chill run down your spine. "C'mon, Mycroft, lighten up," you say. "It was just a joke."

"I know," Mycroft said. "But it does bring up the fact that I could die at any time because of my job. And if we turn this into something serious...I just don't want to add to your trauma of hospitals."

"Mycroft..." you breathe. "What are you telling, me, exactly? 'Cause I could die any day, too, you know. Any of us could die at any time."

"It's much more tangible for me, though!" Mycroft cuts you off. "Do you have any idea how many times that I've had a gun pointed at my head?! I don't want that for you!"

You shake your head. "You're not doing that by being with me," you protest.

"But I am!" Mycroft growled. "I don't like the thought any more than you do, but I'm putting you in harm's way."

You know where this is headed. "Mycroft. No."

Mycroft looks at you, the old stubborn fire back in his eyes. "I refuse to let anyone die over a useless experiment."

You feel the sting of that one. But you refuse to rise to the bait. "That's fine. I just won't die. We can make this work, Mycroft, I'm sure of it."

"But there is the high probability that we can't and one of us will wind up dead because of it!" Mycroft yells. "Will you just listen to what I'm trying to say?!"

"Only if you do the same!" you exclaim. "You're speaking in possibilities, I'm the one speaking the facts right now! Neither one of us is going to die!"

Mycroft sets his jaw. "I can't take that chance."

You sigh. "Are you...breaking up with me?"

Mycroft doesn't reply, just exits the room. You pick up your pillow and scream into it, not caring that the nurses will think that you're dying. He can't just do this, he can't! It's not fair!


	32. Chapter 32

Once you're finally out of the hospital you don't write for a solid week. You just can't find the right mood, no matter how much you force yourself into awkward dialogue and lackluster descriptions. You bang your head on the table so often and so loudly you're sure Sherlock is constantly checking on you because he doesn't have the heart to tell you to keep it down. One day, you just have enough and walk up to B to talk to Sherlock. When he answers the door you grab him by the shirt and pull him down for a kiss, no warning.

Sherlock freezes before he hesitantly returns the sentiment. You pull away, just a little out of breath. Sherlock clears his throat. "Um...research for your writing?"

"Writing is meaningless to me right now," you sigh. "I need to feel something again. Thanks for helping me with that." You offer Sherlock a thin smile. "It actually helped."

"Well, maybe you could help me in return?" Sherlock asked. "I have a case, and I appreciate a fresh perspective, and...and we could do the kissing thing again, you know, if you want."

You laugh for the first time in 2 weeks. "Yeah, Sherlock. We can do the kissing thing again, since you obviously liked it."

Sherlock lets you in and you start to make tea. "You know, my brother is really--"

"I don't want to talk about Mycroft," you say quickly. "I just want to talk about the case, and tea, and anything except your brother. My gut feeling of hating him was evidently more correct than my heart's feelings. He'd rather preserve himself than risk harm."

Sherlock nodded. "I know. I'm sorry you had to learn that this way."

The kettle whistles and you shrug, "Eh. One way or another, and besides, you aren't like that, you're a good friend, and we can kiss without anything behind it, which is nice..." You shake your head and bring the tea over. "Now what's this case about?"

"Well, it appears we have a copycat killer, except not in the usual fashion of a copycat. This murderer decided to be a copycat from books. Not just from a specific author, either. We have 5 different authors so far, all of the scenes displayed exactly how they are described, and nothing connecting them!"

"Not nothing," you correct. "I know these guys. They were all published in a hard noir literary magazine from a few months back. I got a contract with them for one of my stories..." you trail off. "Back when I hated Mycroft's guts. I brutally murdered him in the series' first part."

Sherlock looks sharply up at you. "Are you sure?"

You nod. "I put him in a nasty car crash, and then he was kidnapped from the hospital, tortured slowly for information, and then garroted when they were done with him."

Sherlock blinks at that. "Colorful."

"That's what he said when he found out about it," you say. "Call the police, will you? Mycroft's probably one of the next targets."

Sherlock nods and dials, and you sigh, starting to get caught in your thoughts. How horrible would it be if Mycroft were to die, not by something of his own hands, but by yours? The guilt would be unbearable! You're not sure what you would do if Mycroft got hurt and it was your fault, but you knew it would be nothing good. Sherlock places a hand on your shoulder. "Mycroft should be at work, and an officer is going over to his office for protective detail on him. Don't worry."

You look up at Sherlock, and shake your head. "I don't want anyone to die because of me..." you murmur.

"No one will," Sherlock says firmly. "You just solved the case."

You stand up and look at Sherlock hopefully. "Promise?" you ask.

Sherlock leans down and kisses you softly. "I promise," he murmurs. "The police can protect people once they know who needs protecting."

You look up at Sherlock with a smile. Sherlock returns it, though you can tell he's worried. "What's wrong?" you ask.

"Mycroft may or may not have bugged the flat and as such may or may not be watching right now."

You squeal. "You mean--?! While we were?! Crap!"

Sherlock chuckles. "I wouldn't worry too much. Relax."

You nod uncertainly.

"I know what will calm you down," Sherlock says, pulling out an aux cord for a speaker and taking your phone, turning up the music. "How about a dance?"


	33. Chapter 33

The dance felt wrong. You rest your head on Sherlock's chest, but can't help but think that you want to be dancing with another Holmes instead. You enjoyed kissing Sherlock, yes, but for some reason that just seemed more...platonic. Sherlock rubs a hand up and down your back. "[Y/n]..." he sighs. "I can tell this isn't working."

You sniff a laugh. "Yeah, I appreciate the effort Sherlock...but I think it's just not gonna work today."

Sherlock stopped dancing with you and turned off the music. "Well, we can always try something else. What else cheers you up?"

His phone goes off and Sherlock holds up a finger as he checks it. His eyebrows rise, and he turns to look at a corner of the flat in faint surprise. "What?!" you ask.

Sherlock passes the phone to you and you smile at what you see.  _Try watching_ Doctor Who  _with her. You even think of taking advantage of her and I will personally end you. MH_  


You laugh a little at the end and shake your head sadly. "You know, I think dating either of you would be dangerous..." you trail off.

Sherlock gets a glint in his eye and nods. "Oh, yes. You'd most likely be used for leverage whichever one of us you chose."

"And...I just feel really platonic feelings toward you, even in the kissing bits..." you add on, bouncing on your heels.

"So, really, you may as well be with the person who makes you really happy," Sherlock finishes. "I can see that."

You smile up at where Sherlock was looking. "You hear that, dirt bag? That's the sound of a sign that we should be together!"

Your phone rings and you pull it out to find a text waiting for you.  _Clever. I still have my reservations, though. MH_  


  
_Will they still be there after I snog you senseless?_ you text with a cheeky grin.

You get no reply. You almost think that you scared Mycroft off until you hear someone running up the steps. You turn to find Mycroft pulling you to him. "Tease," he whispers in your ear.

You laugh as you begin to kiss him deeply. When you finally pull away, you're smiling. "Who said I was teasing?" you murmur back.

"You two are disgusting. Not in my flat!" Sherlock exclaims, pushing the two of you to the steps.

Ignoring Sherlock, you hug Mycroft tight. "You have no idea how long these past two weeks have been," you sigh.

"My dear, imagine trying to end this when you still love the other person."

You froze, and looked up at Mycroft incredulously. "Y-you...? You...l-love m-me?" you ask dumbly.

Mycroft frowns. "Is it too early to say a thing like that?" he asks. "I just thought..."

You cut him off with another kiss. "Never stop being you," you breathed. "I love you too."

Mycroft smiled. "Well, then, I suppose we should get back together, and screw the consequences."

You laughed and nodded. "I would be very happy with that," you said. "Want to watch _Doctor Who_?"

"Always, my dear," Mycroft replied. "Lead the way."

You took him down to the basement and popped your latest _Doctor Who_ DVD into the player and started everything up, deciding to make a bowl of popcorn as well. You settled in next to Mycroft to watch, and sighed. This was how things should be, always. Although..."You may or may not die because of me," you say guiltily. "There's a copy-cat killer out there using killings from a literary magazine. The one that published my murder of you."

"I'm aware," Mycroft hums. "They tried to steal me out of the hospital. They didn't get far before someone realized I was abducted. They escaped, but I was fine and cleared for work."

You look at him. "You were going to tell me this when?" you ask.

"Well, I was fine, and I didn't see any reason for you to worry needlessly," Mycroft shrugged.

"You know, for a genius you can be surprisingly stupid?" you tease.

Mycroft arches an eyebrow, unamused. "Oh? Educate me, then."

You giggled and shook your head. "There are some things that just can't be taught, Myc."

Mycroft pulls a face at the nickname. "Never call me that again," he orders.

"Whatever you say, Myc," you laugh.

Mycroft pauses  _Doctor Who_ and you think you're in for it when he grabs your arms and drags you to your feet. "You know what I do to people who don't listen to me?" he murmurs.

You shake your head.

Mycroft grins and takes one of his hands, trailing it under your rib cage. You laugh in shock that  _Mycroft Holmes_ is  _tickling you_ in  _your flat_ and realize that if every day were like this, you wouldn't mind at all.


End file.
